Home is Where the Heart Is
by Kristen999
Summary: Atlantis is back on Earth; things should be boring, light years away from Pegasus. While trying to find a place in this new life, John struggles with politics, a pending promotion oh, and a deadly conspiracy that threatens the lives of everyone on Earth.
1. Chapter 1

Title: "Home is Where the Heart Is" Complete  
Authors: **everybetty and kristen99**  
Word Count: 55,000-  
Rating: PG-13  
Warning: Some violence and a couple f-bombs  
Genre: Gen. Drama, Action, H/C  
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Todd, various SG-1 members and OCs.  
Summary: Atlantis is back on Earth; things should be quiet and boring, light years away from Pegasus. While trying to find a place in this new life, John struggles with politics, a pending promotion… oh, and a deadly conspiracy that threatens the lives of everyone on Earth. Again. John POV, Post-EATG.

Notes: This was written for **susnn**, thanks to her generous donation to **help_haiti**.

* * *

_From:Blocked  
To: Blocked  
Date:01.17.09  
Subject: Status Update_

_Date for the US hearing is being set for spring session. It cannot be postponed. Our friends are uncertain if we have sufficient votes for the desired outcome. Certain parties may have enough influence to sway opinions and endanger global initiatives._

_How would you like to proceed?_

_E.H._

_From:Blocked  
To: Blocked  
Date:01.17.09  
Subject: RE:Status Update_

_Money transfers have been made to secure key chairmanship, but we risk our voice getting lost in committee. The U.S review board will have a powerful influence on the U.N and IOA's final decision. They must be shown the dangers of poor choices and ensure security of the package. We must begin._

_V.T_

_*******  
__  
From:Blocked  
To: Blocked  
Date:01.18.09  
Subject: Steps under way_

_Paperwork and personnel changes have been made. Awaiting signal on delivery options. Will have the pipeline in place._

_E.H_

_From:Blocked  
To: Blocked  
Date:01.20.09  
Subject: Steps under way_

_You have a go._

_V.T  
_

* * *

The office was spartan, reeking of fresh paint and new carpet, yet having a sense of permanence. The chair was new too, shiny black leather with a back that creaked in unfamiliar ways when he shifted. It would take years to break a new one in and force it to recline far enough for him to take a nap... not that he planned on being here long enough to do that. Of course, that's what he'd said about the temporary office they'd set up for him down the hall in what could have been an old storage closet.

Then last week he'd been given this larger space.

It screamed _get used to me._

He rearranged his laptop and a stack of leaning files waiting for his review. The technologies of two galaxies and they still hadn't found a way to go paperless. He picked up the name plaque, traced his fingers over the gold lettering on mahogany, finding it ridiculously wrong.

The walls were supposed to be soft gray with recessed blue lighting, not an ugly beige. He shouldn't be able to pace around his office; it should be cramped and disorganized, with a miniature basketball hoop over his trashcan and a window that opened out to ocean breezes.

Most of all, when he closed his eyes, he was supposed to sense a humming in his veins, a tingle across his skin and not the dead silence of disconnection. It made him feel empty, an aching loneliness filling him up, despite being surrounded by hundreds on base. He'd gone from floating atop an ocean to being burrowed deep inside a mountain.

_You lead a strange life, John,_ he thought.

His phone rang again, like it did all day long and he snapped it up with a gruff, "Yeah, Petty Officer."

"_Colonel, your meeting with Major Donnell has been moved to tomorrow morning at 0800."_

John chewed his lip, trying to recall what the original time had been.

"_You were supposed to meet with him later today, but you haven't e-mailed me your final report to go over."_

"Riiiight, the inspection at Minot," John spoke into the receiver. He was supposed to coordinate things with Donnell and the engineers on a fun-filled trip to North Dakota. The 5th Bomb Wing, 91st Space Wing housed the second largest units of 302's. "I'll...um, send my report after lunch."

"_Yes, sir. Your flight is scheduled next week Tuesday at 1200 with the major to personally oversee everything."_

"Right."

"_Then you'll fly to Washington for your-"_

"Briefing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, yeah got it."

John was about to hang up, but PO Nelson was quicker. "_Also, Major Lorne's here to see you, sir."_

"Send him in."

He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to having someone scheduling all his meetings or appointments and ensuring he made them all in time. (And covering his ass when he forgot something). Having a fresh cup of coffee whenever he wanted was a neat perk, and so was having lunch delivered, but going to the mess meant he got to leave the same four walls and their headache- inducing paint fumes.

The door opened and Lorne paused briefly to read John's name stenciled on the front with a quirked eyebrow of amusement. "Morning, Colonel," he greeted with a smile.

"Major."

Lorne strolled in with a stack of folders in one hand and a mug of steaming coffee in another. "Sorry I'm late, but my mission debriefing lasted longer than I anticipated."

John leaned back casually. "How's going off-world?"

Lorne laughed, slapping a layer of yellow dust off the front of his green fatigues. "Dirty."

"I see."

Eyes wide, Lorne stared at the floor. "Oh shit. I'm sorry," and he tried to rid the dirt with the heel of his boot, only to end up spreading more of it around.

"Don't worry about it," he said hastily, barely able to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "Run into anything interesting?"

"Not really. I was too busy explaining to Dr. Tosh that looking up from his LSD while navigating near a ravine might be a good idea when I slipped and fell on my ass."

John chuckled. "Guess Atlantis' toys are a little too shiny for some."

Lorne shrugged, eyes roaming the empty bookshelves and walls. "At least I didn't get shot at, but it was only my first mission. After two weeks of R&R I've been up to my eyeballs in meetings and paperwork. The IOA has a list of debriefings a mile long for the review hearing." Sitting down in the chair, he slapped a fat file down. "What about you, sir? Scuttlebutt has Homeworld Security's in the middle of an internal war over us."

"Yeah, well, half of them want Atlantis to remain here, the other..."

John let things trail off. Realistically, closer to only one third supported the idea of Atlantis returning to Pegasus, one third were adamant about the city remaining on Earth and the stragglers wanted more analysis. It was one of the biggest security decisions ever, especially given the destruction of the only control chair on Earth and the bounty of Ancient technology at everyone's fingertips.

Thinking about it gave him a headache. He despised politics, yet he was on the front line in the fight to return Atlantis to Pegasus.

"When do you meet with the IOA?" Lorne asked, interrupting John's thoughts.

"I've got two meetings next week before I head to Washington." John hesitated and thought about checking his laptop to see if he'd gotten the dates right, but thought better of it. That's why he had Petty Officer Nelson. "But more importantly, Landry approved our F302 defensive program. Been going through personnel files."

He felt Lorne's steady gaze and John stopped rustling through the stack of manila folders. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"When's the last time you clocked in less than a twelve hour day?"

"I dunno. When was the last time we had one on Atlantis?"

"There weren't many, but we're not on Atlantis anymore, sir."

"That's the point, Major."

Lorne looked like he wanted to push the subject. John pointed at his stack of files. "There's no point in arguing with Homeworld that Atlantis is better in Pegasus if we don't draw up a better defense program against a possible Wraith attack. Those bastards created one super-Hive and despite the IOA's doubts, we know they're capable of creating more."

"Agreed. And we need to get back there to keep that from happening."

"That means having a capable defense strategy, including training our people here on Wraith tactics."

"So, we need to pick a top five list of candidates."

"We'll train them. They'll train the others."

"Did someone magically add ten additional hours to the day when I wasn't looking?"

John scowled at that so Lorne snagged a thick section of files from the stack and blew out a breath. "Alright then," and he started sorting.

John rubbed a thumb and finger over his eyes with a sigh, then picked up the first jacket. He was going to have to log a lot of hours in the air what with the mound of bureaucratic red tape growing. Not to mention the dog and pony show of that _other thing_next month. Glancing around at his barren office, he decided that he didn't have a better use of his time.

* * *

"You still have that dartboard?"

John sat up and stretched out his back. "Can't settle on your last choice?"

"Hard to choose, sir."

John's phone rang again. He glanced at the ID and felt a flare of irritation. "Talk to me."

"_Captain Cutler is here to see you, sir."_

"Send him in, Mr. Nelson." John hung the phone up. "Maybe we'll leave the selection to someone else."

"That Cutler?"

"Yeah, we're lucky he was inside the mountain."

Almost everyone from the 341st Space Wing was stationed at Malmstrom and it'd take days to transfer everyone over to the Montana base. John watched the door, brow furrowing when it didn't open. There was noise on the other side, so someone _was_ standing there and blocking the light at the crack at the bottom.

"Did you accidentally lock it?" John asked, ready to get up.

Lorne grinned ear to ear. "Maybe he's nervous."

John rolled his eyes. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything. It's not every day people get to bask in the glow of a real life legend."

Lorne was clearly enjoying himself and John crumpled the nearest slip of paper, aiming it at his XO's head when the door burst open; a blur of motion with shorn orange hair snapped to attention. "Captain Cutler as requested, sir."

John gave a halfhearted salute in return. "At ease, Captain."

Cutler was stiff as a board, never giving John eye contact. He was in his early thirties and looked like he'd spent a good amount of time at the gym, and from his record, he'd seen plenty of action off-world. He was currently in zone for promotion to major and from all the letters of recommendation in his jacket, there wasn't going to be an issue.

John waved toward the empty chair next to Lorne. "Have a seat, Captain."

Cutler wasn't moving and Lorne was ready to burst out in laughter, but composed himself into a steely gaze. "The colonel gave you an order, Captain," he snapped.

John felt the air move as Cutler scrambled into his seat and John gave Lorne a look that said, _knock it off_, but Lorne mouthed 'no way.'

Cutler's spine was a straight line and a pair of sharp blue eyes stared straight ahead, waiting for John to speak.

"I read your jacket, pretty impressive," John broke the ice. "You flew with the Blue Squadron under Colonel Mitchell before you were transferred to the Sun Tzu two years ago, then the Phoneix for a tour."

"Yes, sir. The Phoneix just got refitted into the Hammond a few months ago and I completed my second rotation last week." Cutler looked at John directly for the first time, passion and sincerity giving him a hard edge. "I wish I'd been here when Atlantis arrived to give a hand, sir."

That was why John loved face to faces: medals and evaluations only told half the story. "You fought in the battle over Antarctica when you were a lieutenant and served off-world; it makes you a very suitable candidate for a special assignment."

Cutler's face lit up, but he schooled it quickly. "Sir?"

"Our units are not prepared to defend against a Wraith invasion. We're taking our top five pilots, and pairing them with men who were under my command on Atlantis to teach you about Wraith tactics and how to defend against and attack darts." At the lack of response John added, "You're one of the top five, Captain."

John waited for questions or perhaps spontaneous combustion based on how Cutler's eyes widened or the friction produced by his fast bouncing knees.

Lorne, who'd been silently enjoying the show, leaned toward the captain. "Do you need me to wipe the drool off your face?"

Cutler's ecstatic smile disappeared and his body became another coil of knots. "No, sir."

"Relax," Lorne slapped the guy on the shoulder. "This will be fun. Besides, half the stories you think you've heard about our adventures are wrong. You know what writing mission reports is like."

Relaxing slightly, Cutler's shoulders lowered. "Yes, sir."

"Which, of course, is why we left all the crazy shit out." Lorne shot John a manic grin.

It'd been a long time since John had seen such a petrified expression. "You'll be fine. I look forward to getting back in the air. Kinda sick of being underground."

"It'll be an honor flying with you, sir."

John stood, deflecting the accolades. "Every pilot can teach another something new. Can't wait to see what you've got."

Cutler shot to his feet immediately. "Thank you, sir. Will you be providing a set of parameters for the final evaluation?"

"Of course," John replied, thinking he might want to type some up.

"And there will be war games," Lorne helpfully piped up.

Cutler's voice went an octave higher. "War games, sir?"

John was going to super-glue everything in Lorne's quarters to the floor. "Did I forget to mention that? You'll be on Earth's side."

"Yes, sir. And the Wraith side?"

Lorne stood up and gave a cocky grin. "Colonel Sheppard will be leading the Wraith invasion."

John cleared his throat. "All those under my command on Atlantis will be on the Wraith side since they're the most familiar with their strategy, including Major Lorne."

Cutler thanked them both two or three times before his hasty exit.

"You forgot to ask him to pick our last candidate," Lorne jibed.

"I'll shoot him an e-mail."

"Oh, I dunno, I think your yeoman could handle it for you."

"Keep it up, Major," John drawled at the Navy joke.

"Sorry, sir. I know, with Atlantis in an ocean, they're allowing more squids to work on base, but it's still a little weird," Lorne chuckled. "Seriously, though. You were the most active field commander I've ever served under and somehow you managed your paperwork and city administration."

"It was all part of the job."

"That include being on call twenty-four seven? You have more hands on the ground now than we ever did back home." John wondered if Lorne realized what he'd called Atlantis, but his XO never missed a beat. "It was about time you got a personal gatekeeper." Lorne snagged his now cold cup of coffee and stuffed his folder under his arm. "And congrats on that other thing. You deserve it, sir."

"Other thing, Major?" John drawled with a raised eyebrow, daring him to speak further of it.

His XO was no dummy.

"Sorry, sir. Musta been thinking of another Lt Colonel who flew a nuke into a Wraith superhive." He quirked a smile, turned smoothly on his heel to leave.

John had no more turned his own hidden smirk back towards the pile on his desk when he heard _smack! Splash!_ and looked up to see Rodney McKay doing a slow burn, cold coffee dripping down the front of his t-shirt. Brown stained white lettering that said "_easy as 3.141593…". _

"Oh for the love of"—Rodney sputtered. "Just like the military, always full steam ahead without regard for what's in their way."

Lorne's face tightened into a rictus of a grin. "Sorry, doc. I'd say something about absent-minded professors with their heads too far up their – books- to see where they were going, but I'm too busy with the full steam ahead thing." He flung coffee off his fingertips with a grimace, resettled his file under his arm and stalked out the door.

Rodney hooked a thumb behind him. "I think he may have taken offense at that."

"Ya think?" John sighed. "We military guys are awfully uptight, _aren't we?"_

"You've noticed that too, huh?" Rodney answered cluelessly. He wiped halfheartedly at the damp spot on his chest, then pulled out the chair and flopped bonelessly in it. "Whatcha doin?"

John's eyes widened at the piles of work on his desk. Shook his head and leaned lazily back in his chair. "Why twiddling my thumbs, Rodney, completely at a loss as to what to do until you showed up."

"Funny. Seriously, what are you doing?"

"My job, Rodney. Why aren't you doing yours?"

Rodney waved a finger at him. "See? Uptight."

"McKay!"

"Fine. I've been working on cleaning up the FEMA–certified disaster area we used to call Area 51 only now it looks more like 1945 Dresden."

John winced at the allusion. He knew very well what had been done to that little patch of land in Nevada, had witnessed it very first hand while five miles above the earth and still carrying the nuclear bomb he'd assumed would kill him.

"Yet here you are in Colorado, Rodney," John prompted impatiently.

"Yet here I am in Colorado," Rodney echoed with a grim nod. "Regrettably, despite certain advancements we have been witness to, there is, for now, no way to clone myself. The powers that be, in their ever so infinite wisdom, found my knowledge and expertise to be such that they cannot function without my input on matters of the gravest importance."

"And those matters would be?" John sighed tiredly.

Rodney waved a hand. "Oh, you know. The trivial matter of a certain floating island city spaceship of rather, shall we say _ancient_ origin, that currently sits in the frigid waters of the Arctic Sea. Apparently some of the Polar Kalaallit have started spreading tales of a phantom iceberg or something, scaring away their food supply." He laughed. "They sent hunters and shaman out in a squadron of kayaks. Imagine, the city defeated not by Replicators or Wraith but by a bunch of Eskimos with harpoons and orca teeth necklaces."

"It's not funny, McKay," John growled, his already thin patience showing holes.

Rodney sat up. "No. No, it's not, really. Because it took a week of dithering back and forth with every freaking arm of the military, every necktie and high-heel wearing bureaucrat from every country in the IOA and then some to decide where to park the city for the foreseeable future. And now, because a few hundred igloo-dwellers can't club baby seals for breakfast anymore, I have been called away from the crucial job of rebuilding Earth's defenses to find a new home for the city."

"She has a home, Rodney," John said quietly. It had been a sore spot, a bone of contention between them since the city had landed in the Bay. And lately, the more meetings he attended, the more voices he heard… John felt his opinion was quickly being marginalized.

Rodney at least had the decency to glance away before his retort. He sat back with a huff that fell somewhere between apology and exasperation. "You're military, as you like to remind me all the time. Thought you'd be more used to the idea of moving bases, pitching your tent on foreign soil, all that." He sighed and his voice softened. "It really does make sense to keep the city here, John."

"Et tu, Rodney?" John scowled. Then he sat forward, jabbed a finger at his friend. "You know as well as I do, Atlantis belongs back in Pegasus. Sooner rather than later."

"I know nothing of the sort," Rodney replied, but he didn't meet John's eyes. "You know, even with my expertise and every Army Corp engineer on the planet, rebuilding 51 is still months, maybe years away. And even once we finish, even if they churn out hundreds of 302s… none of that is gonna make a bit of difference without a chair. No chair, no drones. No drones, no defense against the Wraith. Or hell, with our luck the Ori or the Replicators or the fricking Gouald actually become relevant again. Can you leave Earth defenseless? I have family here, John. And so do you."

John felt his face burn hot. "Family? You wanna talk about family, McKay? Teyla left family behind, in Pegasus. Here, the Wraith are a maybe. Back there, they're a constant threat. And the longer we sit here, debating, the stronger the Wraith are getting. We go back, we stop them _there_ and they don't make it back to Earth."

"Stop them there?" Rodney scoffed. "We were there _five years._ We got our asses handed to us by the Wraith time and again. We come up with X, they come up with Z, they don't even bother with Y, they skip right over it. Super. Hive, Sheppard."

"This time, it'll be—"

"Different?" Rodney said evenly. "When the only reason we defeat a Wraith attack means you, _and me_, I might add, hand-detonating a nuclear bomb we're sitting on… Honestly, John. How many chances will that play get? There really isn't much beyond your precious Hail Mary… it's kinda why they call it that."

Rodney rose from his seat and straightened his wrinkly t-shirt over his track pants. "You may want to consider that some of us are happy to be back on Earth. Coffee shops, secretaries, the internet. You know, they declassified some of my discoveries and accomplishments. I'll get to publish again, _with_ M Rodney McKay PhD, PhD, etc on the cover. Jeannie and I are even considering a collaboration, although her math isn't quite at my level. It's been kinda nice, talking to her when she isn't being kidnapped. Have you, um, even let Dave know you're back?"

Now it was time for John to avert his eyes. "Been a little busy, McKay."

"Figured as much," Rodney muttered. "Well, seeing as how you're so busy…"

Damnit. John's first Atlantis visitor since Lorne in a week and here he was practically chasing the guy out the door. "Look, Rodney…" He leaned back and tried on a smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so…"

"Sheppard?"

His smile tightened. "Point taken. You know, they make a mean cheeseburger in the commissary. You feel like grabbing one a little later? You can steal my fries."

Rodney flushed and bounced a little on his toes. "You see, I, uh… well I kinda already made plans with Jennifer. We haven't had a real dinner together in—"

"I get it, Rodney, I get it," John sighed. Then he screwed his smile into a grin. "Tell the doc I said hi."

"Oh, sure, of course." Rodney nodded his head towards the door, stalled for a second, then gave a small wave bye and turned towards the door. He paused mid-way out, turned back and gave John a piercing look. "You know, once things quiet down a little, I'll be taking a team through the city. Like really through it, like we never got to before. I'm thinking you might wanna join us?"

"I dunno, between the defense program and the upcoming review in-

"For Pete's sake, John. As much as you want us to be, we're not in Pegasus anymore. Whether our exile on Earth is temporary or not, have you ever given any thought beyond the next crisis?"

"Have you seen my calendar for the next month?"

"I'm talking about _long-term _goals. You know, the future?" Rodney missed John's grimace. "I've had what? Two dozen job offers? Not counting the ones I've dismissed completely. And you know...um...look. All I'm saying is, let's take a deep breath. Enjoy a few moments without fear of dying the next day. We could go back through the city with real resources, taking our time. Betcha we could get Teyla and Ronon to join up. Just like old times."

John gave him a grin back. "Sure, Rodney. Sounds great. Just like old times."

His answer seemed to be what Rodney wanted to hear. The physicist smiled and nodded to himself, slapped the door jamb and headed out without another word.

_Just like old times_ John sighed and let the smile drop. Old times like a few weeks ago.

"I'm sorry, sir!"

John looked up to see his aide, face flushed, standing rigidly in the doorway.

"I tried to explain to Dr McKay that he needed to make an appointment to see you, Colonel, but he just – he just –"

"Just waltzed on in like he owned the place, Petty Officer?"

"Um… he… y-yes, sir."

"Yeah, he does that," John drawled tiredly. "I'll tell you what? Add him to the 'never needs an appointment' list, Nelson. It'll make your life a lot easier."

The Petty Officer looked at him like he was certifiable and John had to choke back a chuckle.

"B-but my job is to make _your_ life easier, Colonel."

"That's a helluva big job, Nelson. Let's just say that not having to deal with Dr McKay squawking about not being allowed in my office _will_ make my life easier."

The kid swallowed and stuttered out a nod. Then he pulled out the hated datapad and tapped the screen. "I, um … I'm sorry, sir, but I got a high priority email from General O'Neill, asking if you needed a visit from IT."

John's eyebrows rose while the kid swallowed again and swiped a hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat that beaded there. "He… he said he's gotten no reply to the last, um, seven emails he's sent you. Sir."

"And why would that make him suggest IT, Mr. Nelson?"

The kid managed a nervous smile and hugged his datapad to his chest. "Um, it may be because in answer to his prior high priority email to me I may have suggested you were having, um… server issues."

Server issues. Huh. He had to hand it to the kid- he could think on his feet. "You do realize, Petty Officer, that we are all on the same server. If you got the general's email then there are no server problems."

"Oh, yes, sir. I realize it, but… well, I don't think the general does. He's more of a 'control-alt-delete fixes everything' kinda guy. Sir."

O'Neill's disdain for computers was well known in the SGC.

"Thank you, Petty Officer. I believe my server problems have resolved."

"Glad to hear it, sir," the kid exhaled in obvious relief. John felt a small pang of guilt at putting the kid in O'Neill's line of fire over his reluctance. "Did you need anything, sir? I made a fresh pot of coffee…"

John shook his head. The last cup was still burning the length of his esophagus. Nelson's coffee, even fresh, was black and thick as tar. Fortifying when needed, but he needed extra Tums if he had more than two cups. "All set, Nelson, thanks."

"Of course, sir. If there's nothing else, sir?"

"Not at the moment, nope."

"If you need anything at all -"

"I have your number," John broke in with a grim smile. _I see it come up a hundred times a day._

"Oh. Of course, sir. I'll let you get back to -"

"My emails, Petty Officer. No worries."

The kid nodded and turned to leave. John glanced at his watch, realized that once again he'd be alone for dinner. But he hadn't been lying to Rodney about the burgers… "Actually, Mr. Nelson, it looks like I'll be having dinner in my office tonight." _Like every other night_. "Can you have them send over a cheeseburger later?"

"Medium rare, cheddar, onions, leave off the salad, ketchup on the side, yes, sir."

Damn, he needed to leave his office to eat more often. "Thank you, Mr. Nelson. Dismissed."

After he heard the office door close he turned back to his laptop, moused over the blinking envelope in the bottom toolbar. He was up to eight unopened messages. Damn.

Blowing out a breath, he leaned against the too new leather chair and stared at an office lacking his personal effects. There hadn't been the need to make himself at home here; it was a sign of giving in, or that was what he told himself. Truth was, he didn't have mementos or photos worth putting in frames. Rodney's jab to the contrary, he'd called Dave. Okay, maybe he'd only spoken to his brother's secretary, and maybe he hadn't made any follow-up calls. Dave was in Europe for a few weeks, John would catch up with him eventually.

A ninth new message popped up on his computer screen.

Rodney was right. John hadn't given much thought to his future. And since when? Most of his career had consisted of high risk assignments, and when they needed experienced men to pilot covert CIA ops and ferry ghost units in and out of Afghanistan… well, he wasn't supposed to think any further than the mission. Then, after his exile to Antarctica, he hadn't given a damn about anything except clear skies and a cold beer.

And the last few years...

No wonder he'd stared blankly at General Landry while discussing John's OPRs when it came time to outline his five year goals.

"_Colonel, have you given thought to your next assignment? Your completed fit reps and RFPs have been sent to the board and final approval from the Senate is scheduled for this week, although it's all but a formality. You need to make some choices once the promotion goes through."_

A tenth unread message popped into his e-mail.

The truth of the matter was he'd never really had a clear picture of what he wanted for his himself beyond keeping all his hair, even if it all went gray. There'd been too many times when his future was whittled down to minutes or seconds… He didn't have a death wish, but recent circumstances had never allowed him to entertain anything farther out, and now that he had all these _options and choices_... It was more than a little overwhelming.

Hell, he still sometimes wondered if being back on Earth was an alien manipulated virtual reality or another Replicator mind meld. It'd explain why walking through the halls of the SGC felt like a stroll through the Twilight Zone. Gone were the days of being an object of gossip and suspicion, and while not all his past actions would ever be forgotten, the respect of those around him was genuine.

And every day, he waited for the next shoe to drop.

"But right, now I need to clear away this e-mail," he muttered.

He arrowed down to the first one from O'Neill.

********  
_  
From: J.O'Neill  
To:  
Date:01.21.09  
Subject: Post_

_Sheppard,  
__  
The Odyssey's coming home in a few months and Colonel Davidson is retiring. The paperwork is done for Caldwell to take the helm. The repairs and upgrades to the Daedalus will be complete at the same time. I'm still waiting your answer._

_O'Neill_

_From: J.O'Neill  
To:  
Date:01.22.09  
Subject: Post_

_Sheppard,_

_Did you get my last e-mail? There's no other J. Sheppard in my contact list. I'm attaching the command transfer form for the Daedalus if you've made your decision._

_O'Neill_

_From: J.O'Neill  
To:  
Date:01.23.09  
Subject: The future_

_Sheppard,_

_Look, I get it. The status of Atlantis is up in the air until the results of the review hearing. That's two months away. Command assignments have to be completed sixty days ahead of time, you know that. Paperwork's a bitch._

_The new Daedalus mission is a perfect fit. Active patrol of Pegasus months before any actions from the hearing. Barring repeals and more hearings, of course. It could be a year before we have a real answer._

_O'Neill_

_From:J.O'Neill  
__To:  
Date:01.24.09  
Subject: Answer damn it!_

_Sheppard,_

_You have seven days to make your decision. That or I can make it for you._

_Command of your own warship._

_Command of an empty research city._

_O'Neill_

_From: J.O'Neill  
To:  
Date:01.24.09  
Subject: RE:Answer damn it!_

_Sheppard,_

_Congratulations, by the way._

_O'Neill_

And so it began. Eight more new messages flashed in the time John had emptied his mailbox. All the subject lines were congratulations in one form or another. He knew Congress had given their approval last week, and now it was official, not that the grapevine hadn't been buzzing about it forever.

But that was next month. Right now he needed an imaginary shovel to find the bottom of his paperwork.

A set of knuckles rapped at his door and Nelson poked his head in, tray pushing through the opening. "Sir! Medium rare burger, cheddar, onions, no greens, ketchup on the side."

The aroma of fresh food triggered a low growl from his stomach. Before he could get up to accept the tray, the enthusiastic Petty Officer was attempting to find an open space on John's desk.

Hastily clearing away a stack of files, he found a spot. "Here's fine, but I can handle my own-"

Nelson dropped off the tray and produced napkins and silverware from thin air, and poured a soft drink into a glass of ice cubes.

"You have an extra arm that I can't see?" John smirked.

"It's all about the pockets," the young aide replied. "Sir," he added quickly.

It was useless reminding him that John didn't stand on ceremony. "Thank you. Why don't you take the rest of the-"

His phone rang and Nelson reached for the handset, but John was quicker on the draw. "Sheppard."

"_Major Lorne, sir. I'm sorry to disturb you, but we've got a situation in the cell block. I-"_

"Cell block? Sounds like something that needs personal attention," John cut in. He may have been hungry, but anything that dragged him outside of his office was worth an empty stomach. "I'll meet you in ten."

"_Um, okay. If you-"_

"Yep. Hold things down for me." John hung up and stared at Nelson.

"At ease, Petty Officer," John ordered. Nelson was there... always just _there_. "In fact, take the night off. No need to pitch a tent in the next room."

"But..."

"Enjoy yourself. Watch a movie, go hang out with some buddies."

Okay, maybe Nelson had no buddies to speak of. "Get some rest, Petty Officer. We have an early morning and I need you sharp."

"Yes, sir."

With a burst of energy that had John envious, Nelson was out the door, then scampering back a second later, to put a straw in his glass before scurrying away. John was pretty sure his drink would be flat by the time he got back, but at this point, he didn't care. Ditching his paperwork, his adrenaline was pumping and he was actually looking forward to the newest fire to be put out.

"_Have you ever given any thought beyond the next crisis?"_

No, because he hadn't known anything else in the last few years.

* * *

Strolling through the halls of the SGC lacked many things: the occasional Ancient device gone awry, followed by a pack of panicked geeks, or some escaped critter from Zoology that could fly, turn invisible, or blend into the walls. What it really lacked was an endless labyrinth of hallways to run and beat away any demons nipping at his heels.

Doing loops around the gym didn't provide the right type of distraction, but mentally debating things did apparently, as John ran headlong into another moving object.

There was a yelp followed by a curse as a female form in purple and black staggered back a few steps.

John gave his forehead a small rub. "I'm sorry. Wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Been hit harder before. Maybe not much harder, though," the woman muttered as she rubbed at her own forehead. "Son of a bitch, that hurts!"

John looked at her with concern, scanning for injury, then saw the wide, rueful smile on her face. "Yeah, it does," he said with a laugh. "I am sorry about that. Totally my fault."

"Yeah, it was," she smirked. "But, no harm, no foul," she added.

Now that his vision was clearing a little John got a better look at the victim of his distraction. She was almost his height, about his age. Long brown hair had been caught up in a casual ponytail - bun thing at the top of her head. She was pretty; clean-faced, a few smile lines and crows feet to match his own.

His eyes strayed to her worn Baltimore Ravens T-shirt and jogging pants. She wasn't toned like Teyla under those baggy clothes, but she'd probably give most other civvies a run for their money.

He stuck his hand out. "John Sheppard."

She returned the shake with a nod. "I think pretty much every one in the Mountain knows who you are, Colonel. Karen Sullivan. I work in linguistics."

"It's just John," he said hurriedly, feeling his face go warm. "Especially to people I run down in the hallways."

"Okay… John. And seriously, don't worry about it." She patted the worn gym bag over her shoulder. "I pretty much hate working out so any delay is a good one… even if it means a goose egg."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine, really," she replied. "I'll stick an ice pack on it tonight during the game. Maybe have an extra beer."

"Universally accepted as a painkiller," John said knowingly. "That's right. Raiders and Ravens tonight?"

"You bet. If we nail this, we dethrone the Steelers and get the Wildcard spot. Got Flaco and Clayton in my league so it's a win-win."

John was impressed, didn't mind showing it. "Great picks. Think Clayton might break 300 yards this season."

"You run a team, John?"

He laughed. "Nah. Entered the season a little late for that."

Sullivan blushed and rubbed her forehead. "Duh, sorry. Blame it on the head trauma. Of course you guys just got back home."

Home. Yeah. "Look, I'm sorry, Karen. I need to um…"

"Oh, of course. You were obviously somewhere in a big hurry."

"Not that big a hurry," he said with a reassuring smile. "In fact, you might say I appreciated a delay as well."

"Well, it was a pleasure running into you, John," she chuckled. "And I'll be sure to count you in the fantasy league next year."

John moved aside and she gave a quick smile before dashing down the hall. With a hand to his ear, his finger brushed over skin in search of a com that wasn't there. With a long sigh, he double-timed it to meet Lorne so his XO wouldn't send out a search party for him.

* * *

Level Sixteen of the Mountain had been like a second home the first few days back on Earth, while he spent time accustoming himself with the secondary command bunker's function. They'd recently restarted joint covert training exercises between SGC personnel and the US Air Force Academy, and Landry had asked John to sit in and watch with several other commanders to review qualified officer candidates for future pilots and SG teams.

That was before the promotion and other red tape; now his more recent visits to the level were to the stockade for their VIP guest. Peering in, he studied the bank of security monitors that had a bird's eye view of the entire complex. If anything happened on base, they could direct communications and essential functions from here. The normally stone silent room was noisy with arguing and clipped voices.

Marching in, John stopped behind those in a verbal tug-of-war. "What's going on?"

A Marine stood at attention with a sharp salute. "Nothing, sir."

"It doesn't sound like nothing, Corporal," John pointed out. He'd spoken to Corporal Jenkins a few times before; the Marine had impressed him with his cool head and sharp wit. To see the younger officer, his cheeks burning red, visibly try to remain calm was unusual. John stared at the second man who hadn't given him any attention. "Mind telling me the problem?" he directed at the back of someone's curly hair-covered head.

"I do mind. I'm a little busy," Curly Hair huffed.

"The colonel asked you a question!" Jenkins barked.

"I'm not deaf," Curly Hair snapped and spun around. "Oh, it's _you."_

"Kavanaugh," John sighed. The man was like a bad penny. "Care to explain why you're distracting everyone from their current duties?" Those noticeably eavesdropping stared harder at their display screens.

"Because they have the attention spans of gnats."

John counted to five before answering. "If you can't give me a simple report, perhaps a position in floor maintenance would be more your speed."

The corners of Jenkins' lips curved slightly; other than that, his face was completely neutral.

Kavanaugh rolled his eyes. "You don't have that type of control over me anymore." At John's raised eyebrows he added, "But, since everyone here seems to think you can walk on water right now, I wouldn't be surprised that you'd overreach your authority like that."

John just smiled.

"This grunt thinks there's a virus in the system, slowing down the network feed controlling cameras thirteen and fourteen on Level Seventeen. I explained that there isn't a virus, that we need to wipe out the mainframe and re-boot things from scratch because there hasn't been any proper maintenance completed on these systems in months and that's creating the lag time."

"These systems _were_ updated last week, sir," Jenkins explained and glared at Kavanaugh. "And by wiping clean the mainframe and re-booting things, it'll put us offline for the duration it would take to complete the maintenance, and that's unacceptable."

"Two minutes. Three tops," Kavanaugh snapped.

John held up his hands. "Look, no one's rebooting anything tonight. Treating the security of this base like I do my computer doesn't sound like a good idea. I'm sure there's a protocol to follow. So, follow through and report the issue up the chain of command."

Kavanaugh snatched up his laptop, disconnecting cables. "Typical military bureaucracy. And yet, they keep promoting the sheep, don't they?'

"You can't talk to the colonel that way," Jenkins growled.

John waved the man down as Kavanaugh snorted and stalked away. "At ease; it's not worth it."

"He has no respect for the uniform, sir."

"Don't feed his ego by letting him get to you, Corporal."

Jenkins saluted and John returned it, the stare of numerous collective eyes hastening his steps. He hoped the spotlight on him would diminish after next month's event; the attention was way overly bright for his taste.

"I thought you got lost," the major greeted in the hallway.

"Issues with tech support," John mumbled, ignoring Lorne's confused expression. "What's going on?"

"Security's gotten word that Todd wants to speak to you."

"Oh, does he?"

"Yeah, apparently, he's been so insistent, Lieutenant Sanchez contacted me about it tonight."

"This is the first I've heard of it."

"Well, prisoner security isn't exactly under our purview," Lorne chuckled.

They were both used to overseeing every aspect of command. "I know the IOA wants him transferred to a Gitmo type facility, but they'd need to build one first, and there's no budget for it."

"Not to mention another lab," Lorne commented.

"Well, he's gonna have to get in line."

"Um, then why did you come down, sir?"

John shrugged. "Wanted to stretch my legs." Lorne gave him a quizzical look. "I had to get outa of my office, thought this would be a good diversion." He rubbed at the sore spot on his forehead, which had only added to his headache. He was already regretting coming down. "Changed my mind, though. I don't feel like screwing around with Todd. He's the SGC's responsibility and I'm not in the mood to play games with him."

"Understood, sir. Did you want me to pass along a message to him?"

John looked at his watch, realized his burger would be cold by now. "Tell him, I'll pencil him in next week."

Lorne smirked. "Not a problem."

"Wanna grab some chow?"

"I ate an hour ago, sorry."

Cold burger it is. "No problem. I have an early start in the morning."

"We should meet about those war game protocols."

"That's on my list of things to do," John responded dryly.

"Never thought I'd miss not knowing what was going to happen on a routine basis," Lorne chuckled.

John matched the grin with his own facsimile. "Who'd ever thought living in a secret underground base would be tamer than a floating alien city?"

"I wouldn't say that in front of members of SG-1," Lorne snorted.

* * *

The view through the window was amazing, even seen through a hazy smear of fingerprints and streaks of maple syrup and ketchup. John dipped a corner of his paper napkin in his plastic tumbler of tepid water and cleaned away a few square inches of grime. There. He could practically see the North Portal into the Mountain from here.

It called itself the Mile High Café but the name was the only thing fancy about it. It was an old-fashioned, good old greasy spoon diner. Paper place mats they rarely bothered changing – John's held an a set of coffee brown Olympic rings- and yellowed pictures on the walls from days gone by. The specials changed every day yet never varied. God forbid you try to order meatloaf on a Tuesday when the special was chicken and dumplings.

It had become a favorite spot for the group the last time they had spent protracted time stuck on Earth. The booths were huge and cushy, even if the vinyl was cracked and held together with duct tape in places, and even Ronon could stretch out comfortably.

John could picture the big man, lounging in the corner, arm flung out along the length of the bench top, laughing as he fought with Rodney over the last of the syrup in the tarnished 'stainless' steel carafe. Then he shook his head. Ronon was out raising hell with an SG team. After only two days of life under the mountain, spending practically every waking hour in the gym, sparring, Landry had told John to 'find an outlet for Ronon's aggression' sooner, not later. They couldn't afford any more Marines out with injuries.

Damn. That was another thing to add to his burgeoning list of things to do. Nelson was, truth be told, a Godsend. There were times when John honestly wondered how he ever did without. But there were some things that John had to attend to personally. He pulled out his Blackberry, thumbed the screen over to his schedule and opened up his 'priority' list. Damn. He'd already used up the allotted space. With a sigh he typed "Ronon advanced classes' over "call Dave." It's not like the guilt wouldn't continue eating at him; he hardly needed to have the words in his PDA to see them. And he really needed to set up a schedule with those running the SERE program for Ronon to start teaching some defense classes. Or, in Ronon's case, likely _offense_ classes. Tearing up the Milky Way with an SG team wasn't where the big man's talents were needed right now.

As he was closing up the phone his eye caught the Gallery app. His thumb hovered over it for a second, then he opened it up, scrolled through what had become a familiar stroll down memory lane, backwards in time. The first pic was a group photo, taken at the SGC before everyone had gone their separate ways. Ronon and Amelia, Rodney and Jennifer, Teyla and Kanaan… John and Woolsey. _One of these things is not like the other_… Next was Carson, waving goodbye, a wistful smile on his face. Lorne with Chuck in a headlock. Rodney asleep at his desk, evilly grinning Ronon with a Sharpie in his hand. Teyla helping Torren steer a remote controlled car. Carter opening a Christmas present. Carson fidgeting as Lorne painted his portrait.

He paused as he usually did - sometimes he had to thumb right past it- at the picture of Elizabeth, hip cocked, smiling proudly and wearing the feathered headdress the people of PX3-2072 had given her.

It was at this point in the gallery that the ghosts became more frequent. By the time he'd reached Ford's boyish grin he had to shut it down.

The sound of a car door shutting outside had him glancing through the window just in time to catch a really stellar view of a shapely woman's backside as she reached into the back seat of a taxi. She wore a nicely fitting velour tracksuit with a brand name sewn from cheek to cheek across the rump.

He took a sip of his water, enjoying the show, then choked and spluttered as she turned and raised her sunglasses to the top of her head. It was Teyla.

His disbelief grew as he watched her pull an expensive looking leather bag over her shoulder as she approached the diner. When she came in he saw other male patrons' eyes following her as she entered, then gazed about the diner.

John raised a hand and Teyla smiled broadly. Hurried over with her usual grace and eased into the booth across from him.

"It is good to see you, John," she said warmly.

"Yeah," John said, still a little awed. "Back at ya. You… look… um, different?"

Teyla rolled her eyes but smiled.

"I was given a… what did she call it? A makeover." She lowered her voice. "I was told this would make me fit in better. Does it?"

"Oh, you… yeah, you fit in just fine," John drawled. He lowered his voice as well, leaned over the table and grinned. "Then again, it's been five years. What the hell do I know about current Earth fashion?"

"Ms. Mal Doran has been very good to me." Then Teyla sighed. "I believe she has taken me on as a project. She can be most…"

"Persistent? Yeah, Vala's a force to be reckoned with."

Teyla chewed a lip then smirked. "She speaks very kindly of you, John."

"Kindly?"

"Most kindly." Her grin broadened. "One would almost say she was a bit… I think the term would be 'smitten', with you."

John coughed out a laugh and sat back in the booth. "Smitten, huh? You know, she is pretty attractive…" he teased.

"She is," Teyla agreed. "However, she seems to be of the impression that you and I… that we…"

"We?" John echoed in disbelief.

"Yes. That there was a we. She wouldn't accept that we were able to spend five years together and not be… together. And my protestations seemed only to make her more…"

"Persistent?"

Teyla nodded with a laugh. "Yes."

"Well, thanks for the warning," John said, rubbing the back of his head and squirming in his seat. They were thankfully interrupted by the waitress. Sharla was in her fifties, frosted blonde, probably still pretty underneath her overdone makeup.

"Morning, ma'am," she greeted Teyla warmly as she dropped down a plastic-coated menu in front of each of them and a second plastic tumbler of water. "The colonel's so polite. He was waiting on you to order."

"He is a gentleman," Teyla replied dryly as she scanned the menu. "I'll have the egg white omelet and the fruit plate."

Sharla cast a quick glance at the front counter. The owner, Bud, stood behind the counter, wearing a baleful look and a dingy white shirt with a too short tie. Then she bent a little and whispered, "Only got cantaloupe and some squishy grapes today."

John chuckled, grabbed up the menus and handed them back. "We'll both have the pancakes, short stack for her, tall for me, side of bacon. Let's live a little, huh?"

The waitress nodded as she scribbled on her pad, gave John a wink as she walked away.

"It would appear Vala is not the only one who is -"

"All right. That's enough," John protested. "Think you've spent a little too much time with Ms. Mal Doran."

"I couldn't agree more," Teyla sighed. "Although I appreciate that on the surface we have much in common, beyond our… 'foreign' roots I am afraid we have little else."

"You could probably both kick my ass."

"Well. There is that." Her smile was brief. "I do not like being kept … out of the loop? On matters of my home and people."

John nodded. "Well, if it's any consolation, they've kept me pretty much on the sidelines as well." He sat forward, his whisper urgent. "It figures that the people best qualified to say what's right for…" he looked around… "_the city_ are being kept in the dark and those doing all the deciding have never stepped a goddamn foot in her."

"We cannot be the only voices, John. What about Rodney? They seem to value his opinion, and he certainly never has a problem voicing it."

John shook his head angrily and sat back, steaming. "I think McKay's gone Dark Side. You know, he actually tried to convince me the other day that we should keep her here?"

Teyla's eyes grew wide with dismay. "But… how could he… he knows what that will do to those we left behind. John, the longer we stay here the worse the threat grows, both here and there."

"You're preaching to the choir, Teyla." At her raised eyebrows he added, "I already agree with you. It seems it's Rodney we have to get on board. Along with a few key others."

"Like who? Tell me who they are and I will find them on my own and…"

"Easy, Teyla. I get you. These last few weeks haven't been easy on you, I know. But that's the way things work around here. There's two speeds when it comes to our politics: slow and molasses." He quirked a smile. "Having you show up on an IOA member's doorstep with Ronon's blaster really won't solve anything."

Her answering smile was tight. "I have been known to solve difficult situations with my words, not a weapon." She took a sip of her water then pushed the glass around on its watery puddle. "I must admit the image had entered my mind, but only briefly."

The waitress's approach, laden down with plates, temporarily tabled the discussion. "Here you go, short stack for you, ma'am, and a tall stack, side a bacon for the colonel."

"Thanks, Sharla," John said, already reaching for the carafe of hot maple syrup.

"Love a man with a hearty appetite. Speaking of, the other two not joining you?"

"Afraid not," Teyla replied. She poked at her pancakes with her fork. Mention of the absent two had clearly saddened her.

"Too bad," Sharla shrugged. "Miss seeing the big guy around here. You be sure to tell him Sharla says hello, all right?"

John chuckled around a mouthful of food. The flirting she did with Ronon was even less subtle than Sharla's usual bawdy banter. And there was no doubt why Rodney didn't get mentioned as being missed. Not after multiple, too loud protestations over tipping had been made. Rodney's penchant for calculating to the exact fifteenth percent had been the topic of way too many arguments.

"I'm hoping they _both_ can join us next time," John teased.

Sharla rolled her eyes and sauntered off.

"It is odd, us all being so far apart,"Teyla commented. "It feels…"

"Wrong," John sighed, the buttermilk cakes already heavy in his stomach. "I know. Ronon's been blowing off steam on missions. Come to think on it, I'm surprised you haven't gone out with an SG team."

"They have asked me," Teyla confirmed as she finally ventured a small bite. "I think it more that they are trying to keep me occupied. I have not kept silent on my views since our arrival. I've spoken to Colonel Carter and even General Landry."

"And?"

She sighed and put down her fork. "I believe they listen to me, but that their minds are mostly already made up. John, I understand, more than they probably think I do, that defense of home is paramount. They have had but a taste of the true strength of our enemy and it scared them. And rightfully so. But they are unwilling to look beyond their fear and seek answers in the short term."

"Yeah, I've heard the speeches too. I think the idea of losing what they see as their only defense scares the crap outa them. Hell, I don't really blame them." Then he worked up a smile and grabbed up a strip of bacon, crunched an end off with gusto, then pointed it at her. "But, as one of our great military leaders once said, 'I have not yet begun to fight.' I'm not giving up yet, Teyla."

She inclined her head in acceptance. "Good. In the meantime, you can teach me to drive."

He choked on his bacon, coughed, then said, "Come again?"

"If I am to remain here… in Colorado…" she smiled, "I want to be able to travel on my own. I do not think I can take much more of Vala, and I would like Torren and Kanaan to see more of… Colorado."

"Driving, huh?" He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I dunno…"

She grinned and leaned over the table at him. "I have flown a hive ship. I think I can handle a car."

"They are a _little _different," John drawled. "But I think I can find time in my busy schedule to go over the basics with you. What about you? Time between facials and doing each other's hair?"

Teyla's balled up napkin hit him square in the face. He was ready to return fire when his cell phone chirped and began to dance with its vibrations.

Picking it up he noted the caller, raised an eyebrow and showed it to Teyla. She echoed his surprise as he thumbed the phone to answer.

"Mr. Woolsey. Always a pleasure to hear from you, sir. What's up?"


	2. Chapter 2

John was a patient man to a degree; every pilot had rocket fuel in their veins and it simmered and boiled during pre-mission briefings, pre-flight checks, post mission briefings, post mission reports, while updating maintenance logs—-no wonder everything else had to 'go very fast'. Bureaucracy ran like rivers in business, government, check-out lines, you name it, and that doubled when it came to leaving and returning to secret underground bases. Parking his car, going through security, and waiting on the elevator down knocked hours off his life. It also agitated the gerbil that raced on the wheel inside his head about the reason why Woolsey wanted to see him.

Woolsey wasn't in John's chain of command anymore and the man's position in regards to Atlantis had been as shifty as a politician during an election year. He popped in and out of the Mountain while racking up miles between D.C, Munich, Beijing and the rest of the globe. John's meal from the diner was a lead weight in his belly and slowed down his step toward the temporary offices used by visiting officials.

Except Woolsey was waiting for him as he stepped out of the elevator, his shiny expensive Rimowa attaché case under his arm. "Colonel, thank you for coming so quickly," he greeted.

John mused on Woolsey's definition of quickly. "Of course."

Woolsey cleared his throat, looking John in the eye, his usual sense of cool faltering slightly. "I wanted to speak to you before the scheduled meeting."

"Scheduled meeting?"

"Yes, well. The one that's been on the books for those who don't feel the need to share with the rest of us."

John wondered if this was the shoe he'd been anticipating for a while and folded his hands behind his back. "And the nature of this meeting?"

"To facilitate the ongoing debate about Atlantis' future. The Defense Secretary feels a liaison between the Pentagon and the IOA could help evaluate the pros and cons of the Atlantis situation and present a report along with your own to the review board."

"A _liaison_?" Just what they needed- _another_ person's opinion in the matter.

"Yes, a neutral party who hasn't been influenced by either side," Woolsey explained like he'd memorized a memo. "This representative was promoted from Homeland to Homeworld Security to avoid bias."

John raised an eyebrow at that. Everyone had a bias. "So, a bunch of bureaucrats who don't know the difference between a Wraith and an Asgard sent someone who's just been read-in on the Stargate program, to write another opinion to toss on the pile?"

"In order for the President of the United States to make an informed decision on which way to vote on the matter, he wants a wide range of opinions, including those in and outside the influence of the military and the IOA. I happen to think it's a wise decision."

"Alight, let's go meet this liaison."

Woolsey started walking and John strode next to him. "Just so you know, I was only aware of this meeting after I left D.C. this morning."

This raised a gigantic red flag inside John's head, but he knew the game well enough not to show his true colors, followed his former boss into a small office next to General Landry's, plastering on a smile for their visitor.

"Ms. Beauchamp, Richard Woolsey."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Woolsey."

John's ears twitched as his head whipped around. He knew that voice.

Woolsey stepped out of the way, revealing a familiar petite woman. "I believe you already know Colonel Sheppard."

His ex-wife stepped over, a nervous smile on her face. "Hello, John."

"Nancy?"

Woolsey cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. "I have some notes to go over before the meeting. Ms Beauchamp, may I rejoin you in a bit?"

"Of course, Mr Woolsey," Nancy replied smoothly, her eyes never leaving John's. "I think a little catching up of my own is in order."

The bureaucrat nodded shortly and left the two of them alone in the tiny office.

John's head swam with a million different things he wanted to ask her. Her sudden presence in the world he'd always had to keep from her had completely blindsided him. As he felt his lips starting to form about three different sentences, all variations of how and why and how, she took another step forward and broke eye contact, looked down.

"I'm sorry this had to be kept from you, John."

The words were a familiar echo to those he'd rehearsed in his head, all those years ago. Every time a mission swept him off in the middle of the night, only a note left on the dresser, or an emergency call had taken him from a dinner party, his only goodbye a raised phone and a rueful smile across a crowded room. So many times on his return to a cold dinner wrapped in the fridge or a note of his own saying she was staying with her sister for the night, he had wanted to say, 'I'm sorry this had to be kept from you.'

Before he could begin to formulate a reply she was stepping over, hesitantly at first, then putting her arms around him, rising on her toes to press her cheek into his neck. She wore the same perfume. He hugged back, his arms finding their same comfortable place around her slim form.

"Funny how these things work out, huh?" she murmured into his ear.

"Yeah," he finally managed to reply. "Who knew two galaxies could be such a small world."

She laughed warmly in his ear, pulled back but dropped her hands into his for a brief squeeze, looked up at his face. "You look good, John."

"Yeah, you too." And she did. Aside from the small smile lines at her eyes, she had hardly changed from their married days. "Gotta admit, I didn't think we'd see each other again so soon."

Nancy nodded and rolled her eyes a little. "Actually, I think it was the poking around that I did for you that got me noticed."

John started at that, his eyes growing wider.

She laughed. "No, it's okay, I swear. I like to think that my stellar work with Homeland Security helped, too."

"I'm sure it did," John said, returning her smile. "You always were pretty damn sharp. Smarter than me, that's for sure."

She punched him lightly on the arm and his grin broadened. Then he cast his eyes about the closet cum office. "This place is about as cozy as a jail cell. You have a few minutes to go someplace with a little more space and a little less fluorescent lighting?"

She glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist and nodded. "Absolutely. As long as our new space has a coffee pot."

They found a corner of a mostly empty break room, pulled up plastic chairs on either side of a chipped brown formica-topped table. John took his time, blowing lightly over the top of his black coffee as she added two sugars and a dash of half and half. She pulled the end of the plastic stir stick through her lips to clean it off, the action achingly familiar after all this time.

"So," he finally ventured. "Homeworld Security a little different?"

"Just a little," she scoffed. Then she sobered, pierced him with a serious look. "My boss could only tell me that I was being considered for a promotion…. I'm honestly not even sure he knew what it was for. I had to sign piles of forms, non-disclosure agreements, authorizations for them to do deep background checks. They downloaded every email I'd ever sent, logged every phone call. I even had to take a physical where they put me through this really odd glowy MRI CAT scan thing…"

John nodded at the image. How many times had he been under one of those damn scanners?

"Then they had me take an hours long polygraph. It was… more invasive than the physical. And all of this without knowing why."

"I'm assuming you have a better grasp on why now?"

She smiled tightly. Looked around and seemed to realize she could speak more freely where they were. "Still haven't wrapped my head around the whole snake alien controlling your body thing."

"Yeah, they're pretty jumpy about that around here," was all John commented.

"I get that. Anyway… the polygraph - they seemed a little obsessed with our marriage, brief as it was," she added softly. "They kept asking me what I knew of what you'd been doing all those years… seems they couldn't really believe you'd never spilled any of your secrets."

John chewed his lip and worked over that for a moment, trying to get a take on whether that was a good thing or not. He sighed. "Sounds like my being a - what did you call me? A 'one man Fortress of Solitude' was the right choice," he finally replied.

Nancy paused and seemed to do a little pondering of her own. Then she nodded. "I guess you're right."

It was only then that John's eyes flicked down to where her left hand was playing with the stir stick. Huh. Still no wedding band. He wanted to ask about Grant - or was it Graham? but decided it was up to her to bring it up.

"Anyway," she continued, pulling in her left hand as if she sensed him looking at it, "by the time they pulled me in for what they said would be another round of 'interviewing' I was fit to be tied. I went in there, all wound up, ready to start swinging…"

John laughed at that, remembered her temper well. "You can take the girl outa Texas… Please tell me you didn't…"

"No, no. No, but I was fixing to." She smiled broadly. "My daddy mighta had a daughter but he raised a son who could fight. I stomped in, planted my hands on my hips and stared down the only man in the room. His face was rock hard, stern, and he just eyed me right back. Then he stuck out his hand, introduced himself as General Landry and welcomed me to HomeWorld Security. I almost didn't catch the change in title I was so riled up."

"Oh, man." John shook his head in disbelief. He looked around briefly then whispered, "Landry is a real hard ass."

"Oh, no he's not," Nancy replied with a wave of her hand. "He's a teddy bear once you get to know him."

John just stared at the description. "If you say so… think you know a completely different man than I do…"

"I'm sure I probably do. You military guys are good at wearing different faces."

Ouch. He just nodded noncommittally.

"It was a whirlwind after that," she continued smoothly. "I remember a guy coming in after a while, his arms filled with a projector and a box of files. He fumbled with the stuff, setting it up, sorting out the folders… just your garden variety professorial type. Little did I know it would be my first meeting with the famous Dr. Daniel Jackson."

John quirked an eyebrow. "Famous?"

"Oh, yes. He figured out how the chevrons worked on the gate. And he found Atlantis and single-handedly figured out how to dial the gate there, and then he solved the problem of the ninth chevron… John, do you know he's been Ascended? Twice!"

John felt his eyes start to roll and then he caught her grin. "So I hear," he said dryly. "You know, I almost-" He closed his mouth, suddenly aware of what he was about to tell her. A heartbeat later he realized he no longer had to keep so many secrets from her. This was gonna be weird.

"You sound like a veteran," he commented. "Gates and chevrons… and Atlantis. So. You know about her."

"Her." Nancy smirked and sat back, folded her arms. "Yeah, I know about the other woman, John. But I haven't gotten to meet her. Yet."

"She's beautiful," John replied, not a trace of self-consciousness. "And I can't wait for you to see the city. If I can get some time away, maybe I could take you on a tour?"

"I'd like that," Nancy said. Then she was quiet and John realized he had a million things he wanted to tell her - everything he had had to keep quiet about for all those years. But where to start?

"Well, hello!"

John turned to see Rodney entering the break room, empty extra large coffee mug in hand. The physicist had clearly been making a beeline for the coffee machine, only to pull up short on seeing the two of them. John raised a hand in greeting and Rodney stuck a finger up at him, rushed over to the pot and dumped half of it into his massive mug. A sloppy spill of creamer and a small stream of sugar later, Rodney dropped a stir stick in and made his way over to their table.

He took a sip of coffee, grimaced. "Gah! The coffee in here is terrible!"

"You knew that, McKay… why are you getting it from here and not your office?"

"They took my Krups."

"Come again?"

"They took my…" as if finally realizing there was a beautiful woman seated with them at the table he paused and gazed appreciatively at Nancy. He reassessed his statement and smiled disingenuously at her. "My mischievous friends in the lab thought it would be great fun to appropriate my coffeemaker - I'm sure they're just hiding it. All in good fun. You know I love a good laugh. Who's this?"

John sighed. "Dr Rodney McKay, this is Nancy Beauchamp of HomeWorld Security…"

Rodney's eyes were already rolling as he looked away with scorn.

"…and she also happens to be my ex-wife."

That was worth the wait. Rodney's eyes bugged before he broke into a genuine smile, held out his hand and pumped hers with vigor. "Wow, so Sheppard really had an actual Earth woman at one time."

"Rodney!" John spluttered.

"Oh, please." He waved John off, his eyes only for Nancy. "Didn't Kirk have an ex-wife named Nancy too?"

"No, that was Dr. McCoy," Nancy answered without hesitation.

Rodney's eyes lit up with glee. "How did you let this one go, Sheppard?"

"I didn't," John said shortly. "What are you doing here, Rodney?"

His friend continued to gaze with open admiration at Nancy and gave him only an offhand reply. "Told you. They have me back here working on a new place for - Wait." He turned and looked at John. "Did you say HomeWORLD?"

"I did."

"So I can-?"

"You can," John said with a nod.

"Cool." Rodney went back to working his charms on John's ex-wife. "I'm working on finding a new place for Atlantis, which believe you me is quite the task. A city the size of Manhattan displaces a LOT of water. And then there's the cloaking and shipping lanes and environmental issues…"

"I was to understand they were thinking of sinking Atlantis someplace," Nancy said hesitantly. "I mean, if she stays here," she quickly added at John's scowl.

"Yeah, if," John grunted. He was saved from further discussion by the vibration of his cellphone. He thumbed it on, looked at the ID. Lorne. The text message was brief but had his blood boiling.

"Son of a bitch."

"What's wrong, John?"

He waved a hand at Nancy, but his stayed eyes pinned to the message. "Nothing."

"Ah," Rodney scoffed. "A famous John Sheppard 'nothing's wrong, everything's fine, by the way something's going to blow up and kill us all in five minutes'."

John cast him a death glare then looked up to see Nancy's brow knit with concern. "It really is nothing, this time," he sighed. "Just a … an issue. With a certain guest of ours," he added with a meaningful look at Rodney.

Who clearly either didn't get or didn't care about the meaning. "Oh, you mean Todd?"

John just fumed for a second, then bit back, "Yes, Rodney. With Todd."

"What's he bellyaching about now?"

"Dunno," John said as he put away his phone. "But this time Lorne seems to think it really does require my attention. My immediate attention." He shrugged in apology to Nancy. "Sorry I gotta cut the visit short. Not the first time you've heard 'duty calls' though, right," he chuckled bitterly.

He expected a light derisive snort or at least a smile. But Nancy's eyes were widening. With curiosity… Crap.

"Todd… that's …" She lowered her voice unnecessarily. "He's a Wraith, isn't he?"

Double crap. It appeared she'd been completely read-in. John wondered for the first time how powerful a position she'd been given.

"Yes," he sighed, daggering another glare at Rodney. "Currently occupying a guest suite here on base til we figure out what the hell to do with him."

Nancy's eyebrows lifted. "A guest suite?"

"More like a titanium-barred and force field-surrounded prison cell," John grunted.

"Word is he finds his accommodations… less than accommodating," Rodney observed.

"Like I give a - crap," John muttered.

"Apparently you have to," Rodney pointed out with a finger thrust at John's phone.

"Are you going to see him?" Nancy asked, a touch of almost creepy awe in her voice.

"Lorne wouldn't bother me with this if I didn't have to," John allowed. "I'm really sorry about cutting the visit short," he tried again. But he'd seen that look before.

"Let me come," she blurted out. "I promise to stay completely out of the way and-"

John cut her off with a shake of his head. "No."

Her hopeful look quickly turned hard. Yep. Seen that look before, too.

"If I am to make decisions - world-altering decisions - based on the threat his race plays here and in Pegasus, I think it appropriate to see a representative of that race. And my understanding is that for my first face-to-face encounter, this Todd would be the ideal choice. He's worked with the SGC -"

"He's seized our ships and taken my people hostage!"

"But ultimately, you have found him to be an ally at times, isn't that correct?" Nancy continued smoothly.

"At times," Rodney piped in in a slightly strangled voice. "Other times… not so much."

"He's not an ally, he's a prisoner!" John yelled, standing and pushing his chair back in a single, abrupt motion. "We don't ally with Wraith. We kill them." Wow. Channeling Ronon, John? "Or… in this case, keep them prisoner," he added in a slightly chastened voice. "You're not 'meeting' him, Nancy. End of subject."

The appraising look she gave him had him again wondering just how deeply she'd been read-in. She chewed a lip, appeared to consider a rejoinder. Then she relaxed back into her chair. "Okay, John. Since there's an issue you need to address, maybe this isn't the ideal time."

"Don't count on there being an ideal time," John muttered back. He sighed as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket again. "I gotta go. I'll get a Marine to take you back to Woolsey-"

"Oh, I'm sure Dr. McKay can take care of me… if you wouldn't mind, Doctor?"

The physicist blushed and grinned. "Not at all. Call me Rodney. Say, you know, it's not as entertaining as watching Sheppard bantering with Todd but there are a few cool things I could show you."

John got up and left the break room, fuming already at having to deal with a situation he'd been working damn hard at avoiding. Behind him he heard Rodney pouring on his odd brand of charm.

"We even have this invisibility ray - wait. What level clearance do you have again?"

* * *

Having a chit-chat with Todd was on the bottom of his list of fun things, below root canals and prostate exams. Goading and verbal sparring aside, interacting with the Wraith was a strategic mental game. It required a variation to the facade he used in negotiations, smooth talking an enemy while secretly plotting how to double cross him. Black jack, poker, chess. Aerial dog-fights. It was all about mastering the bluff.

Todd didn't intimidate him—John just couldn't stand sharing the same air with the Wraith. It had nothing to do with flashbacks of a certain Genii prison, or those nights woken up in a cold sweat, hands pushing down his t-shirt to search for fresh wounds on his chest. Nor did it have anything to do with the countless times Todd had stripped John's control away by holding all the cards during one of their stand-offs.

Maybe though, just maybe, it had more to do with John's twisted sense of loyalty toward his adversary for upholding a bargain. And that inkling of respect that never went away, no matter how hard he tried to vanquish it.

Scribbling his signature in the visitor log, he waited on the guards on duty to enter the key code and escort him toward the stockade. Another pair of Marines was stationed inside; one approached him as the door was locked behind John.

"Sir," the Marine saluted.

Glancing at the last name stamped on his collar, John nodded. "Sergeant Garrison, I hear your visitor has been a bit unruly."

Garrison was a burly one, short and squat, with the hands of a mason, a tattoo peeking out from the rolled sleeve on his left arm. "You could say that, sir. He refused to stand up and go to his daily debriefing session two days ago and was belligerent toward Sims and King yesterday morning."

"Was force used?"

"No, he hasn't even moved from his sitting position on the floor. He did threaten to bite anyone's fingers off that got near him. And today is when he started demanding to see you. Every. Five. Minutes," Garrison sighed, clearly irritated.

"John Sheppard! I will speak to John Sheppard!" came Todd's deep, broken voice.

"Every five minutes, huh?"

"For the last eight hours." Garrison waved a finger at his head. "Stuffed cotton in my ears to muffle the noise, but it cuts right through. Unfortunately."

"Sorry about that. I wasn't aware the situation had escalated so quickly," John apologized.

"Well, the doc's been worried about his physical state since he hasn't...well, you know," Garrison schooled his face. Neither of these men had ever seen the results of a feeding; only training videos and case files. "Hasn't eaten anything in the last week."

John grimaced. Todd's diet had been a highly debated subject when they'd first arrived, but his nutritional requirements had become someone else's problem. He walked over toward the other guard, but the Marine never took his eyes of their prisoner; his face looked chiseled from a block of stone, all sharp angles and a square jaw. His head was freshly shaved, no doubt with a razor, no clippers for this warrior. The rest of his six-foot two frame was a model for Bo-Flex and John smiled to himself for finding Ronon's next sparring partners.

He walked over and the young corporal's posture went ramrod stiff. "Sir."

"Everything all right?"

"Yes, sir."

The corporal's gaze snapped back toward the twenty-by-twenty cell.

"I'm going to have a little talk with our guest here. Corporal..."

"Martinez, sir." The walking giant stalked toward the bars, verifying Todd was out of reach of the doors, barking, "You will remain where you are. Do not move!"

Garrison was next to John, zat out as Martinez opened the door, left hand resting on his weapon.

John walked inside calmly, arms loosely crossed in front of him, ignoring the nagging feeling in his gut to be on alert. But outward appearances were part of the game. "I've heard you wanted to speak to the manager about your accommodations."

There was a cot to sleep on, bolted to the floor, along with a small steel toilet and sink. There was even a beanbag chair to sit on - John's idea. They'd given him a child's desk made of soft plastic and paper and markers to write with. But nothing that could be fashioned into a weapon.

Todd didn't stir; he sat tailor style on the floor, elbows perched on his knees, his gaze blankly straight ahead. Standing spitting distance away, John noticed the unpleasant odor of an unwashed body and he wrinkled his nose. Garrison and Martinez flanked John, both men wound pretty tight, Martinez the most, his finger a bit too eager on the trigger.

"I'll take it from here," John nodded at the door.

Neither man budged, both stepping in front of him when his name was suddenly bellowed. John pushed past their protective positions and stared at Todd screaming nonsensically, as if unaware the object of his demands was right in front of him.

"Hey! I'm here, no need waking the neighbors."

Todd's voice died mid-rant, reality returning to his dull eyes. "Awwww, you have finally granted my request."

"More like a landlord's visit about a rowdy tenant. You've been breaking the noise ordinance."

With a quirk of gray dry lips, Todd gave his best sneer. "Maybe you have forgotten what it's like to be held at the mercy of others." With a growl, he sprung to his feet, chains jerking his arms taut, cutting short their reach.

John stood his ground, hands on the shoulders of the guards, trying to block any attack. "Easy, fellas. That was Wraith for hello."

Todd was poised in a low crouch, and despite an unhealthy sheen to his skin and a slight tremble in his limbs, he could still probably pounce on John before anyone got off a shot. As if reading his thoughts, Todd gave a raspy chuckle and backed off, relaxing his muscles. "Your guards may leave us. If I wanted you dead, I would not require my feeding hand."

"Go on," John ordered his escorts. "It's not like I haven't killed a Wraith before," he grinned, hand moving to the butt of his .45. "I'm even kinda good at it."

Todd gave a snarl of amusement. "Easy to say when you have the upper hand."

"Don't plan on giving that away anytime soon." John cocked his head to the side at the guards, who quietly obeyed his command to leave. Giving his full attention to Todd, he laced his tone with annoyance. "I know time can get lost down here, but I don't have a lot of it." With a flick of his wrist, he tapped his watch. "You have two minutes."

Growling, Todd stood straighter, the gray coveralls he'd been forced to wear slightly baggier around his frame than the last time John had seen him. "In the past, we have always found a way to find a common ground for discussion. I do not understand why this is not the case anymore."

"If you haven't noticed, we're not in Pegasus anymore. You're what we call an enemy combatant."

"A fancy word for prisoner."

"Potato, potahto," John shrugged. "One minute left."

"The food source your people have provided me is inadequate for my needs."

"I've seen the area they keep the livestock. Cows, goats, deer. Many would call that a four-star menu of choices."

"Your scientists know very well that such food is...unsatisfying."

"I'm sure it provides your calorie requirement just fine. I've had plenty of MRE's. You'll get used to yours." John turned to leave and Todd cut him off, prompting the antsy guards to draw their weapons. John held out his hand, freezing their actions, despite how Todd loomed over him.

"You found a way to feed me before," Todd whispered in his ear.

"Different circumstances," John growled, getting in Todd's face. "We don't need you that badly."

"But don't you?" Todd dipped his head down, whisps of hair brushing against John's shirt. "You need me more than you ever have. Your people have no idea what the Wraith are planning now that there is nothing to distract their pursuits. Do you really think that Earth is safe? How long before another advanced Hive is constructed while you waste your time, waiting to be slaughtered?"

Sweat trickled down the back of John's neck, his breathing even while his heart pounded. "You're holding back something."

"So are you. Your herd animals lack the proper sustenance that a human provides. I will only grow weaker if you force me to feed off creatures that do not offer what I require."

"But you'll survive. I've seen plenty of Wraith live off worse."

"And if our roles were reversed, and I fed you iratus bugs, enough to keep hunger at bay, but not enough to sustain you. Would you not see it as a form of torture?"

"Not my call."

"Never thought you'd take the easy way out."

That hit a nerve, but John bit his tongue. "You'll live."

"Yes, perhaps for a little while. But like last time, nothing's changed. And as I slowly starve, keep reminding yourself that you are better than Wraith, or even the one who kept us both prisoner when we first met."

John didn't have a witty comeback and turned his back on Todd, giving the signal to open the door.

"It doesn't matter; in time the 'discussions' with your people will grow old and the medical _examinations_ will become more extensive," Todd chuckled. "Alive or dead. Your people only want to study me as a specimen."

That was another thing not under John's purview; the SCG was about research and they had the perfect subject at their disposal. Which was another point of contention among all those pulling their strings. What was Todd? A highly valued commodity to exploit and use? An enemy to mine information from? Or a prize for those who wanted the bounty of knowledge and were willing to bow and curtsey to get it.

All previous partnerships with the Wraith had been mutual with a helping of suspicion. Todd was at their mercy now, the scale tilted out of balance, tainting John's sense of honor. "I'm sure with a bit of forthcoming from your side, maybe we'll—"

"Cut my chains? Allow me to advance your people above their limited capabilities? For what? To live in another cell while a fire eats me alive?" Todd growled. He took three steps forward, still imposing, still confident despite being a prisoner. "Then kill me, John Sheppard. Do the honorable thing. If you do not, I cannot promise how things will be when we meet again. Or..."

"Or what?"

Todd grinned, his dull eyes flashing with a slight twinkle before dimming. "Nothing."

It didn't feel like nothing, but John backed, those cat-eyes glaring at him. "I'll request some pork next time. See if Ms. Piggy whets that appetite," John offered, knowing that no variety of animal protein would satisfy what a Wraith required.

Todd hissed, resuming his sitting position on the floor to stare endlessly at his barrier to freedom. John left the stockade in his rear window so to speak, more pressing things vying for his attention. Like war games and committees and meetings. His ex-wife's new position in his world, a constant reminder of a life he'd left behind and how it crashed into his new one.

He scribbled his name in the log and gave Garrison a sharp nod. "Try not to let him get to you. If he starts ranting again, maybe we'll bring in some speakers. Play some Stones or Zeppelin." At the Marine's not-so-thrilled expression, he amended. "Maybe Metallica or Jay-Z."

"I heard the guys say that they might bring in an ox from some exotic meat supplier. Maybe even a bison."

John wanted to say it wouldn't help; he knew first hand. A choice was going to have to be made, but he gave his stock grin, knowing it wasn't up to him, and he was secretly glad. "I'm not sure if we stuck him in a ring with a raging bull and a red cape that it'd give him what he needs."

Which was fear. Defiance. That whole life and death struggle that was an irresistible drug to any Wraith.

With a glance at the two young guards, he prayed they'd never bear witness to a culling, have no memories of burning villages, of terror reflected in women and children and families that lived in fear of the skies above. But John stored all those images, brittle corpses, ruined worlds, all that was dark and brutal so that it fueled him—drove his fight for Atlantis to return to its rightful home. And the moment he felt a pang of sympathy for Todd, he allowed those memories to run rampant, reminding him why he shouldn't care what happened to the Wraith.

* * *

Hitting the gym was going to be heaven. Sweat, adrenaline, and the sting of burning muscles. He needed to work off some steam, get his blood pumping and shake off that whole 'fused to an office chair' feeling. And while John cleared up the rust, if he so happened to reach the equivalent of a runner's high where he didn't have to think about anything for a few minutes, that would be cool, too.

John tossed over a glance at Ronon walking beside him. "You seem to be in a good mood."

"Looking forward to sparring. Got to make sure you haven't gotten soft."

"Nooooo, I'm going to _work out._ You, on the other hand, get to meet your new students."

"Don't you want to be my partner and show them what not to do?"

"Funny," John said half-heartedly to Ronon's chuckle.

They entered the gymnasium, taking one of the far corners to observe SGC's finest, a mixed unit of Air Force and Marines warming up. "Most of these guys have several tours under their belt. They should be pretty eager to learn something new." John leaned against the wall. "This doesn't mean you should break any of them."

"Who says I will?"

"You've got that glint in your eye. Going off-world doesn't give you enough action?"

All sense of humor evaporated from Ronon's body. "No."

John didn't need to be a mind reader to know what had his buddy so wound up. "We'll get back to Pegasus. It's just going to take some convincing."

Ronon could hitch a ride back on one of the Daedalus runs that kept surveillance on Wraith activity. It was too early for such discussion, but it was always a possibility and he knew that both he and Teyla would return one day, even without Atlantis. Earth wasn't their home and they wouldn't stay behind with so many under the Wraith threat.

Channeling some hard fought optimism, he mustered a smile. "In the meantime, we both have jobs to do. You taught some of our best black-ops people and civilians how to survive." John nodded towards the other soldiers. "Don't let those skills go to waste. There are plenty of bad guys in this galaxy that need their asses kicked."

Straightening to his full frame, Ronon cracked his knuckles, a habit he'd picked up recently. "Still doesn't feel like I'm doing much."

John had been saving his next bit of news for after the class, but there wasn't any need to hold it back anymore. "I talked to Colonel Lawler over at Fairchild Air Force Base. He's interested in you becoming an instructor for the SERE program." Ronon seemed less than impressed, forcing John to elaborate. "SERE is our program for training downed pilots how to evade hostiles in enemy territory and survive off the land. If anyone knows how to do that, it's you."

Ronon's neutral, 'Okay' didn't ring with much enthusiasm. John tried adding some excitement to his pitch. "You'll teach people how to adapt in extreme environments. Deserts. Arctic tundra. Sweltering jungles with vicious predators," he tempted. "It'll be your version of a vacation."

The mention of dangerous animals got a slight flicker in Ronon's eye. "And getting captured?"

"That's where the resist part comes in. Most countries have rules for treating prisoners-"

"Rules?" Ronon huffed.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Earth has too many, but not everyone follows them. With all the interrogation techniques you're familiar with, you'll be able to teach our guys news ways to deal with our old-fashioned ones." John had his buddy on the hook and it was time to reel him in. "And you won't be dealing with just new personnel. There'll be plenty of advanced combat teams learning new ways to go in and out of hot spots and war-zones."

"SEALS and stuff?"

"Yep. Rangers, Green Berets."

"Cool."

While pleased he cheered the big guy up, John wasn't feeling a lot of excitement coming his way and used his Ronon translator to read in between the lines. "You'd be close by in D.C., when you're not frog marching students all over the place."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

Ronon rolled his eyes. "Are you going to lead a gate team soon?"

This was one of the many reasons why John wanted to hit the gym to forget all the decisions looming over him. "I have lot of balls in the air. We'll see what happens."

"You don't belong in an office."

"Thanks, buddy." Truth be told, John wasn't sure where he belonged.

Ronon must've picked up the shift in his mood and tried his own brand of cheering up. "By the way. Heard your ex-wife was here." He gave a mischievous grin. "How's _that_ going?"

Crossing his arms, John wondered how many times he'd be asked that today. "Fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

When Ronon smirked, it reminded John how young he really was. "Huh. Cuz, you've been on a dry spell of late."

Clearing his throat, John pushed off the wall. "We're not having this conversation."

Ronon laughed. "I'm just sayin'."

"Don't get any ideas, Chewie. She's here to evaluate...what do you mean a dry spell? I haven't been on a ...I mean, I've been busy," John defended, trying to recall his last date and grimacing.

Ronon was having too much fun. "I know this cute gate tech. She's a little too old for my tastes. Maybe-"

"No need to pawn women off on me. Besides. I thought you were-"

"Colonel Sheppard, sir!"

Ronon was still grinning like a fool, which was better than the alternative. Turning, the officer before them nearly snapped in two from standing at attention. It was all John could do not to tell the Marine to knock it off. The three-ring-circus surrounding next month's events really needed to get over with.

"At ease..." John floundered at the name.

"Master Sergeant Jameson, sir."

Ronon's mouth thinned into a straight line, his eyes sizing up the Marine and finding dozens of ways to make him scream like a girl. Which was saying a lot since it seemed the SGC fed all their men with genetically altered spinach and double helpings of chow that magically transformed right into muscle. Jameson was tall, dark, and full of spitfire. He didn't back down from Ronon's gaze, chest puffed, shoulders stiff. All warming up ceased and a small crowd milled about with a set of collective moon gazes sent in their direction.

"Sergeant Jameson, this is Ronon Dex," John introduced.

Jameson offered his hand and Ronon took it, both men attempting to out-crush the other's fingers.

"Remember what I said about breaking things," John reminded the big guy as he wandered off to find a place to stretch.

Ronon was the center of attention, his eager students hanging on to his every word. When bodies started hitting the mats, John focused on using the lap machine in the corner to work on his upper body. Normally he allowed running to be his outlet, but he hadn't seen Ronon in a while and he wasn't about to get soft from sitting on his ass all day. He pulled down on the pulley, working his biceps and triceps, allowing that slow burn to creep into his arms.

It was like doing a chin up, except he pulled the bars down without the need to lift up all of his body weight. Pull and release, pull and release. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, he drew in deep breaths of oxygen and slowly exhaled, releasing himself into a rhythm of force and resistance, the sounds of flesh smacking bone a distant echo.

It wasn't until that burning turned into a slight tremble and his breaths took on gasps of air that he eased up, having lost count of the number of reps. Had it been over a hundred? Hands on his knees, he bent over to calm his heart, perspiration dripping down his face. How long had he been on this machine? And would he be able to move his arms tomorrow?

"Need some water?"

A bottle appeared in front of his nose and he accepted it, taking a few gulps before slowing down. "Thanks."

"Keep it. Got another, sir" Jameson replied. The Marine's green t-shirt was soaked through with sweat, his right eye sporting the start of a shiner. He drank down half his own bottle, focusing on Ronon sparring on the far mats. "He's good."

"One of the best."

"I hand-picked everyone for his class," Jameson acknowledged and looked at him directly. "Your team has quite a rep, sir."

John appraised Jameson, guessing he was part of either Delta Force or Division Recon, based on the amphibious divisions the SGC liked to partner with. "We were just doing our jobs."

"Without another single recognized member of the U.S military… or Earth based for that matter." Jameson sized John up. "That takes some leadership."

"Because I had the best with me," John stood, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. "Sometimes it doesn't matter what uniform you wear. Earth military or civilian."

"_Fortes fortuna juvat,"_ Jameson replied with a grin. The lights in the gym flickered, ghosting the fighting lessons with a film noir feel. "Betcha a geek just blew something up in the labs." With a swipe to his domed head, he winced when his fingers hit a sore along his jaw. "I swear, if he messed up my most important attribute for my date tonight, I'm gonna be pissed."

Considering the man looked like Dwayne Johnson, John didn't think the guy had anything to worry about. Ronon was scanning the room and caught his eye. "I wouldn't keep him waiting if I was you."

Jameson grinned like a shark on the scent of blood. "Did I forget to mention, I was supposed to bring you over for some demonstration?"

"You got to be me kidding me?"

"No, sir."

"I outrank you."

"Yes, you do, sir. But then again, Mr. Dex is not in the military as we're both aware. I'm not sure he knows what the word 'no' means."

John groaned; his sore arms were going to be the least of his problems.

Ronon hovered near the bench with a crooked grin that was both amused and contrite. "You sure you don't need to see the doc?"

John rearranged the blue flexible pack over his left knee with a grunt. "No, ice is just fine."

"Shouldn't it be applied directly?"

"It _is_ being applied." With a quick adjustment, trails of water dripped down his black track pants. "I'm just gonna let it rest for a few minutes." John wasn't about to hang out in his boxers in front of the whole SGC. "After a few Advil, I'll be fine."

"That was an impressive move."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. Until you twisted the wrong way."

"Thanks for pointing that out. Would have never figured that one on my own," he grouched. John was drenched with sweat, he could easily wring out his black t-shirt to produce a whole cup of water. He ran his hand through his spiky hair, sending it up in many directions, all the while Ronon stood easily, his dark tank top only partly wet.

"If that'd had been real, you would've walked away the victor." Ronon shrugged, unapologetic. "A sore knee is better than being dead."

His joint was good and numb; with some anti-inflammatories, he'd avoid any problems. John was calculating the most direct route to his quarters to change out of his sweaty clothes when a familiar face hesitantly came into view.

"John?" Nancy stood close by the bench where his leg was propped up, her eyes darting from the ice pack to Ronon, who had sneakily taken a few steps back. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just a little training accident." Standing to prove his point, he didn't even wince. "I wanted to ice it just in case."

"Training accident?" Sweeping the gym with a practiced eye, she studied the men still hanging around chatting. "With special forces units?"

"You could say that my team was a special force all its own," he quipped.

She had access to his classified file now. While he hadn't trained with groups like Green Berets or anything, John had participated in his share of covert training exercises.

Nancy spoke volumes with a slight uptick of her lips. "Speaking of your team, I was hoping we could all have lunch together later today."

That was a smooth change of topic; John was impressed. Then again, climbing the ladder to Homeworld required a mix of intellect and charm.

"Lunch? Today?" She was trying not to laugh at his stammering and John adjusted the weight to his right leg. "Why?"

"I'm going to be interviewing them for my report, to try to understand their perspectives and I thought it would be nice to get together under more casual circumstances to set everyone at ease."

"I'll need to check my schedule."

With a coy grin, she cleared her throat. "Your aide already cleared your calender."

"Did he now?" _How nice to consult me first. _

Always able to read him, Nancy attempted to smooth any ruffled feathers. "I didn't ask him to, John. He seemed very eager to help."

"You could have called; no need to come all the way down here."

"Actually, we both tried to, but there was some type of interference or something with the coms. PO Nelson needed to inform the right department about the issue and I wanted to check out more of the base."

John found his gym bag and felt between towels for his earpiece, force of habit causing him to assume an impending crisis.

"The radios work now." Nancy pulled strands of her long hair away to reveal a com tucked inside her ear. "But I was already halfway here."

With a quick glance at Ronon, John verified he hadn't been the only one ready to jump at an emergency call. "Well, you can never be too careful." He couldn't help staring; it was so surreal to see her in _his_ world, and he half expected her to be armed. He even checked for the bulge of a gun under her beige suit jacket, glad to see there wasn't one.

She turned toward Ronon, calm and poised. "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Dex."

"Just Ronon."

"Of course. Maybe we'll be able to really talk this time."

Ronon was noncommittal and John resisted explaining that long conversations with the big guy were as rare as perfect uninterrupted evenings, but she was here in an investigative capacity and would figure it out soon enough.

"I'm not sure about the rest of my team. They're pretty busy."

"I've already spoken with Ms. Emmagan, a lovely woman. She was very excited to sit down with us." Nancy repressed a smirk, her professionalism smooth as silk. "Tracking down Dr. McKay was a tougher task, but he had no problem shifting around his busy day."

"Why I am not surprised?" There was no way of keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

"This wasn't an ambush," Nancy sighed, using that patient but firm tone gained from many arguments during their marriage. "How about 1300 in the mess hall? It'll be more convenient than going off-base."

"Sounds great. It'll give me time to hop in a shower," John forced a smile.

With a glance at the melting icepack she matched his grin with something more genuine. "Maybe you should try taking it easy, John. We aren't as young as we used to be."

Nancy gave Ronon a nod, then made her way through the gym, several men taking notice as she passed. A few of them glanced John's way and hurriedly found other things to occupy their interest. Ronon was smart enough to keep any remarks to himself, and John wandered over and chucked the now warm icepack into the garbage.

His knee ached, but he flexed it without much pain and grabbed his gym bag. "I guess we're all having lunch later."

"I'll catch up with you. Gonna hang back' some of the guys wanted to stay later so I can show them some new counter arm-bars."

"Right." Ronon's voice was edged with exuberance and John was glad he'd clicked right away with his students. "Remember. We need them all in one piece."

The lights flickered again and John took that as a sign that having lunch with his team and ex-wife was going to be a fun-filled adventure.

* * *

Half an hour after showering, John's knee had stiffened up, and he wrapped an old ace bandage around it for support. If it got any worse, he'd get an x-ray. If it was his right knee, the one that still twinged from being smashed, kicked, and abused for the last twenty years, he would have been first to go to the infirmary. Instead, he used the next couple of hours in his quarters to catch up on paperwork without his phone ringing off the hook. He approved Cutler's selection for the remaining spots on the training squad and signed off on Lorne's tweaks to their war game plans. Next was scanning his travel itinerary for his trip tomorrow to inspect the 302s with Major Donnell and he double checked the tiny calendar icon in the corner and sighed.

The days were flying by.

He skipped the three priority e-mails from O'Neill and his phone's alarm chirped to let him know it was time for lunch. He took his .45 from the desk, verified the safety was on and slipped in his holster and buttoned up his green BDU shirt over his black undershirt. His hand froze over a nonexistent sensor and he manually opened and locked his door. He slowed his usual brisk pace in consideration of his knee.

The mess wasn't overly crowded; depending on the day, lunch was around 1100 and if you'd been off-world and day and night got switched around, meals were eaten at the craziiest of times. There was a very special mission going on that even John didn't know many details of, but SG-1 was part of it, and they took a lot of support crew with them. This might have been the reason that his team got a good spot in the far corner.

He snatched a yellow tray and got a large portion of beef stew, a heaping mound of mashed potatoes with lots of gravy and green beans. Walking over, he soaked in the sight of his team gathered around smiling. He ingrained the scene into memory, Ronon's easy slouch with a wolfish grin, Teyla's laughter at something that obviously had Rodney huffy in that indignant, but in a humorous way, nearly cracking a grin despite it all.

Teyla caught his eye and waved him over. "John! We've been waiting on you."

"Sorry I'm late for the party," he drawled, setting his tray down and sliding into a chair next to her.

"Well, we wouldn't miss it for the world," Rodney smirked. "Having lunch with the ex. Mrs. Sheppard. It has a kind poetic justice wouldn't you say?"

"No, I wouldn't," John said, jabbing his fork needlessly into his beans.

"Oh, I dunno. You had dinner with Jeanne how many times? Learning countless embarrassing tales about my childhood and every little secret a loyal sibling should keep?"

"And the last I checked, she wasn't piped into Homeworld Security or reported to the Defense Department, McKay."

Teyla sipped her herbal tea. "It will be very nice to talk with her."

John picked at his stew, trying to be nonchalant in a very uncomfortable situation.

"Unless the two of you still have trouble-"

"No, it's not that," John protested. "It's just you know. I'm not exactly...

"Open."

"Expressive."

"A man with normal communication skills?"

John gave his team a baleful eye. They knew him all too well. "Maybe a little of all three. It's not like I've talked to Nancy much in the last few years. I don't even know what she did when she was at Homeland."

"I was unaware that Ms. Beauchamp being so new to things would have such influence over the decisions regarding Atlantis," Teyla inquired, the same question reflected on everyone else's face.

"That's the point. No bias," John replied between bites of lumpy potatoes.

Ronon leaned back in his chair, hands crossed behind his head. "Think she can handle it?"

"That's what I'm here to do."

John got to his feet, perhaps bit too quickly when his knee protested, but he pulled out a chair to his other side and Nancy accepted it. "Thank you."

He wasn't sure but her thanks seemed a bit cooler than usual. He sighed and gave her a game smile. When it was only partially returned he knew. She was still pissed off. Then as he watched her give genuine smiles out with her handshakes with the rest of his team he realized she was only pissed off at him. He still wasn't quite sure why he had reacted so strongly at her request to meet Todd. Just the thought of her… in the same room with Todd. It just didn't sit right, ex-wife or not. Hell, just the fact that she was a civilian, and an unarmed one at that. No, she'd have to meet Wraith the way all the IOA suits did. Video.

Nancy smiled as she looked at Ronon. "I had thought it was odd you brought a … what did Dave say you called him? A consultant? To your father's funeral."

John shoved in a forkful of potatoes, mumbled around his mouthful, "I think it was civilian contractor."

"Well, I can't tell you how pleased I am to meet you for real, this time, Ronon. And Teyla. Where is your son?"

"He is with his father for the day," Teyla said, her eyes dropping. "His father will be returning home to Pegasus on the next run the Daedalus makes."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Nancy replied. "I'm sure it's hard for a father to leave his son."

Teyla squared eyes with Nancy. "It is. But we both feel it is important for Kanaan to return. My people continue the fight with the Wraith and need him there to lead them."

Nancy smiled broadly. "Ooh, I like that. Jumping right to the good stuff. Well, no guessing which side of the debate you're on, Teyla. And John has been more than vocal about it I know. Ronon, can I assume you hold the same opinion?"

"If you mean Atlantis belongs back home in Pegasus, yeah," Ronon grunted as if the question wasn't a question at all.

Rodney stood from his chair, nodded towards the food line. "I uh, need more gravy for the potatoes. They're really lumpy today." Then he ducked his head and hurried off.

Ronon tossed a look at his back, rolled his eyes. "He hates it when we talk about it."

"From the little we spoke the other day, I think he may be a little… conflicted," Nancy said.

John's eyebrows lifted at that. "First I heard he was conflicted. He was pretty clear with me, set on finding a permanent place for the city someplace here."

"Rodney has orders he follows just like the rest of us," was Nancy's cryptic reply. She snagged a green bean from John's plate and munched it down. "Hey, pretty good for commissary food. Think I'll get a plate."

The moment she was out of range John leaned in to his two friends. "Look, I know it's a little… weird, having her be my ex and everything, but treat her like you would any suit. She's gonna have a lot of pull with the powers that be when they make their final decisions. She's got a mind of her own, trust me. But if we can break her down, really get a chance to explain to her our position… it could go a long way."

Teyla sighed but nodded. "Perhaps I can arrange some time to spend with her? Your marriage speaks highly of her," she said, smile quirked. "I welcome a chance to share our story with her."

"What do you want me to do?" Ronon asked.

"Just don't bark at her. If she asks questions, answer her, truthfully. And if she pushes back… you push back harder," John illustrated with a jab of his fork.

Ronon's grin was feral. "I can do that."

"Not too hard, Chewie. Alright, here they come."

He sighed as he saw Rodney and Nancy coming back to the table, laughing as if long time friends. When he saw the glint in Rodney's eyes he knew the joke had been at his expense.

"What's so funny?" he drawled as they sat down, still chuckling.

"Nancy was just telling me about your clumsy attempt to cook her dinner - what was it, your third date?"

"Fourth," Nancy choked out around a muffled laugh.

"Really, Sheppard? You lost _both_ eyebrows?"

John fumed, his face heating, his finger brushing self-consciously over one thankfully full brow. "So much for your vaunted tight lips, Nance."

"Oh, John," she teased. "I think Homeworld Security can survive with a few secrets let out. In fact," she added animatedly, the group enrapt at the chance to hear more dirt. "Did he ever tell you about the time he got sick on a merry-go-round?"

"Wait a second!" Rodney crowed. "Top Gun Sheppard got sick on a" - he choked and had to pound his chest with a fist as he cackled.

Even Ronon and Teyla were grinning.

"It was _food poisoning_," John broke in hastily. "And I -" his Blackberry vibrated in his pocket. The group wasn't really listening to his protest anyway. He prayed for something to call him away from lunch, just to avoid more _It's Your Life, John Sheppard._

The words on the cell phone screen made his blood go cold. He could only stare at the white on black letters, re-reading the brief sentence over and over, trying to make sense of them, not willing to believe they were true.

The group's laughter died down at his silence.

"John, what is it?" Teyla asked.

He couldn't tear his eyes away. Then everything slammed home and he rose from his chair, his bum knee twinging at him.

A Marine sat by himself at a neighboring table, reading a spy novel while picking at his food. "Sgt Ramos!"

The Marine lifted his head, stood as if on autopilot at the urgency in John's voice. "Sir?"

"Please escort Ms Beauchamp to the nearest secure area. Protocol Alpha. Get her two guards, then assemble your team and await my orders."

"Yes, sir!" The Marine saluted, left his book and half full tray and strode over to Nancy's side. "Ma'am?"

"John, what the hell is going on?"

"Just go with him, Nancy!"

"I deserve an answer, Colonel Sheppard," she shot back in her 'I'm wearing my Homeworld Security pants now' voice.

The rest of his team were all staring at him as well. He couldn't even say the words. "It's Todd. He's escaped."


	3. Chapter 3

John rounded the corner, his team at his heels. Two Marines with M27s outside the entrance to the holding cell nodded their respect to him, leaving their hands where they belonged. Wrapped around their machine guns.

Lorne stood next to Dr Lam and two corpsmen where they knelt on the ground over the lifeless bodies of Martinez and Garrison. Even from here John could see the men's necks were canted at a wrong angle.

Lorne looked up at their entrance, strode over, his face grim. "Sorry for the text, Colonel, but I didn't want the alert put out over a potentially open line. General Landry got the same text if it makes you feel any better."

"Understood, Major." John's eyes scanned the two dead Marines, over to the cell now open and empty, then back again. "He didn't feed," was his quiet observation.

"Not yet, no, sir. But, if he's planning on absorbing any of our firepower he's gonna have to eventually."

"What's our status?"

"Level One. We've locked down all surface entrances and exits, posted guard at the ventilation shafts, shut the iris down tight and rerouted all the gate controls to Area 51."

"We can do that?"

"Ever since the hive ship, yes, sir. Protocol set up to shift remote gate dialing control to any number of locations, depending on the threat. Colonel Carter and Walter's pet project the last few weeks."

"Sounds like you've got things well in hand, Major. Except, of course, for the whole Wraith on the loose thing."

Lorne's expression darkened. He took a breath, met John's eyes with a hard gaze. "It shouldn't have been able to happen, Colonel."

Not the reply John was expecting. "Explain, Major."

"Sir, I've gone over this set up a hundred times. Maybe more. I've had geeks running escape scenarios through computer simulators, had experts who designed Supermax prisons go over the blueprints. The more antsy Todd got the more paranoid I got. There was no way he could escape."

"But he did!" Rodney broke in, fuming.

John just nodded. There would be time enough for figuring out how and laying blame if there was any. He trusted his XO's opinion. Todd was gone and getting him locked back up was his only priority. "Well, he did," John replied with a small, reassuring smile to his clearly self-recriminating second. "Only job we have right now is retrieval." He rubbed thoughtfully at the nape of his neck, thinking aloud. "We all have trackers implanted in us. Didn't anyone think to lo-jack our most valuable prisoner?"

Before Rodney could open his mouth again Lorne shot him a look. "As a matter of fact, I did. But we're not picking it up."

John grimaced at his 2IC. "Glad you thought of at least." Damnit. His reluctance to deal with Todd had left him one step behind in the whole situation. "Rodney. What do we have on cameras?"

Rodney shot another glare at Lorne, then stalked over to the guard station, booted up the computer and started typing furiously.

"When was the last time we can confirm he was here?" John asked his XO.

"Shift change about 40 minutes ago."

John shook his head with dismay. 40 minutes may as well have been 40 days for a Wraith on the move.

"In fact, the only reason we knew he was gone when we did was one of Garrison's buddies came by to drop off coffee."

"He call it right in?"

"Yeah. He's being debriefed but I talked to him. He checked to see if they were alive, called it in within seconds. We're running an extra background check on him and the two guards just to be on the safe side."

From behind him John heard the creak of leather. He didn't have to turn to see that Ronon was there. The big man was practically humming with pent up energy and fury. But he had no direction for it. Todd could be anywhere in this warren of corridors and offices.

"Don't suppose you could rig up something with the LDS, Rodney?" John asked with little hope.

The scornful look the physicist shot him said it all. "Please. After all these years of searching for Wraith, you don't think I would've figured out how to scan for Wraith signature? Life. Signs. Todd is alive, ergo-"

"Yeah, I get it, Rodney. May have even heard it a time or two."

John heard a muttered, "Well why did you ask?" But he chose to ignore it. They were all on edge. They needed to start someplace.

Before he could make the suggestion Ronon shouldered past him into the cell itself. He tossed the bean bag chair into the corner, then turned to the desk and started flinging objects off it.

"Hey, Chewie! That's not how they do it on CSI, buddy."

He got a growl for an answer but Ronon did start going through Todd's meager belongings with a little more care.

"Teyla?"

Before he could ask she was moving into the cell to join the search. "If it will help us with a direction to start," she said as she passed him.

Dr Lam stood up, brushed her knees off. "Without an autopsy, you know my findings aren't official, Colonel…"

"I'll take off the cuff for now, Doc."

"Their necks were broken at the C2-C3 junction. From the directionality of the fractures, as you can see just looking at them, I'd say strong hands ripped their heads to the side in a single brute action. Death would have been almost instantaneous."

"Small mercies, Doc," John said quietly. "No sign of feeding at all?"

"None that I can see, but of course, I'll do an immediate blood draw to look for the presence of the Wraith enzyme."

John nodded, then signaled for them to take the bodies away. Sheets were draped over the lifeless forms and quickly loaded onto gurneys to take them to the infirmary. He dispatched the two guards outside to accompany her to the infirmary; they had plenty of firepower here and it wasn't likely that Todd would voluntarily return to his hated prison cell.

"What do ya got, McKay?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"Nothing," Rodney spat out as he poked angrily at the computer. "As in bubkus, zilch, nada -"

"Rodney!"

"Nothing as in the computers recorded nothing for the last thirty seven point nine minutes. As in nothing on the hard drive, nothing recorded, no keystrokes. It's as if approximately thirty eight minutes ago someone disconnected this computer from the mainframe, all power and its motherboard. Which shouldn't be possible."

"Yeah, I keep hearing that, Rodney. Theories?"

Rodney wiped a hand through his hair, dropped down and ripped a panel off the front of the console. "Gimme a minute," was the muffled reply as Rodney began digging into the computer's innards.

"Colonel!"

He looked up at Teyla's call. She had a glint in her eye and he rushed over.

On the floor, off to one side, there was a smear of silvery green and a small piece of what looked like bone.

"What the hell is that?" John asked as he stared at it. Recognition dawned as Teyla answered him. "I believe it is Wraith blood and one of his fingernails."

"Huh. Musta ripped it off in the struggle. At least they got a little piece of him," John continued darkly.

He cocked his head and stared at the smear, then moved his head the other way. "Something about the shape…"

Teyla was nodding as she saw his concentration. "I too thought I recognized something in it." She didn't elaborate. She wanted him to see it independently. To back up her theory.

He squatted without thinking, winced and grabbed his knee as it squawked at him. With a scowl he rubbed at it then eased his face closer. The blood had dried darker in streaks under the smudging. Thin and spidery, not more than a few centimeters tall. Several distinct lines forming two spindly symbols. He looked up to meet Teyla gazing back at him. She gave him a silent, confirming nod.

"It's Wraith."

"What? Like Todd wrote something?" Ronon asked. "Why the hell would he write something in his own blood? Why would he take the time to do it before escaping?"

John rose with a scowl, ignoring the crap his knee would give him for it. He'd always hated mysteries and had been known to flip to the back to see the solution when he lost patience and interest in a novel. That this mystery involved the deaths of two soldiers made it even more infuriating.

"All good questions, Ronon. And the questions are starting to back up. McKay! How about some answers?"

There was a smack and a muttered curse as Rodney rose, rubbing at the back of his head. "When I said give me a minute I didn't mean it literally!"

"Well, try and pretend there's a mad genius Wraith running about Cheyenne Mountain and that everyone's lives are at risk!"

"Sarcasm isn't going to help me recover data any faster," Rodney bit back. "If there is any data to recover. I wasn't 'pretending' when I said there was nothing there. I've tried every trick I know, and I know them all. For all intents and purposes, this computer went offline and off grid almost immediately after shift change."

John jabbed his ear mike on. "This is Sheppard, what's new, people?"

A litany of well-trained voices read off their status reports. Various sectors having been checked and deemed clear. No sign of the fugitive. But mercifully, no sign of any casualties, either.

"Alright, stay in pairs, keep sweeping up to down, down to up. Maybe we'll corner him."

"Because a cornered Wraith is extra fun," he heard Rodney mutter.

"Sheppard, out," he finished with a daggered glare at the physicist. "We're wasting time here. Not only do we have to worry about the people here on base, we've got SG teams out there blocked from returning home."

Ronon was fingering his blaster, literally leaning towards the door, his feet planted on the floor. "Go," John said, releasing his hound. The Satedan left a draft in the room as he bolted out, his leather duster rustling in his wake.

"Teyla" - He paused. "You need to be with Torren?"

She shook her head firmly. "No. I am quite confident in Kanaan's ability to keep him safe. I am needed here."

"Good. What kinda range do you have on your Wraith sense?"

She considered for a moment, her own hand dropping to her sidearm. He knew she itched to join the hunt, but she sighed, dropped her hand to her side. "Out here, on the move, not much. With meditation I may be able to extend my reach. Perhaps if I can enter his mind and can see what he is seeing…"

"It might help narrow down where he is. Great. Go, find a quiet place, and take a Marine with you." At her opened mouth he added, "That's an order. You'll be a sitting duck while you're zoned out."

"All right. I will report back with my results." She left, grabbing one of the machine gun wielding sentries from the door.

Rodney came out from behind the console, the two of them now standing in the empty cell room. "There's nothing more for me to do here. I might have more luck if I can access one of the main terminals and figure out where the breakage in the link happened."

He dashed a glance into the cell, stepped gingerly over the phantoms left where the two bodies had laid and into the open cage. "I think it is Wraith," he said after studying the drying blood.

John's eyebrows rose with surprise.

Rodney shrugged. "Spend enough time reading their operating manuals trying to free us from hive ships, crashing and or falling apart and otherwise, you pick it up. Plus all that work we did in the lab, Todd was always giving me notes in Wraith I'd have to have translated…"

"You know what they say?"

"Not the foggiest. Hello? I said I had to have them translated. You recognize Chinese when you see it, right? But can you read it?"

Before John could answer Rodney held up a hand. "Actually, I don't wanna know, you probably do, Colonel Black Ops."

John couldn't but he wasn't about to admit it. Now, Korean…

Rodney meantime had keyed his own ear radio. "This is McKay, I need a Wraith translator sent to –" he muted his mike. "What do you call this place?"

"It was designated Holding Center Tau."

"Tau?" Rodney rolled his eyes with realization. "T, for Todd. Cute. Your idea?"

John shrugged.

"You and the naming things." He keyed his radio back on. "Send them to Holding Center Tau. And make it snappy."

He gave John a smug grin. "Maybe we'll get one of those answers you were squawking about."

"Make it snappy?" John echoed.

"What? I'm not military. You expected on the double? An A-Sap?"

"Didn't you say something about accessing a main terminal?" John asked pointedly.

"Hm, yes." Rodney walked towards the door, then paused. "What are you going to be doing?"

"Evidently waiting on the translator you just ordered up."

"Oh. Right. Well, I've got my beeper on me," he said, tapping at his ear. "Page me if you get anything off Todd's little mash note."

His exit left John alone but for his worries and the lingering image of the two crooked-neck bodies on the floor. He fought not to be back on the radio, knowing full well if anything in the slightest had changed he'd be made aware of it immediately. A fleeting but incredibly macabre thought itched in the lizard part of his brain. Todd taking out soldier after soldier, each before they could radio in. Mowing down his people, his team, while he remained oblivious. The last man left.

He shook it off, moved back into the cell and eased, slower this time, to a squat over the symbols. Was it a taunt? A little Wraith version of _eff you?_

He knew how bad Todd's situation had been. But he'd told himself he didn't care. He didn't waste care on Wraith. But what Todd had said, whether he'd wanted to admit it to himself or not, had hit home. The iratus bug bit had been a nice touch.

While occupied with his thoughts he was still acutely aware that there was a killing machine on the loose. At the most subtle sound of footfalls in the hall outside he stood, .45 in hand, safety thumbed off in one painful move.

A Marine stood next to a familiar woman in olive drab tee and cargo pants. As she stepped into the room he remembered how he knew her.

"Colonel, this is Dr Karen Sullivan," the Marine introduced.

"Colonel Sheppard. I understand you needed a Wraith translation?"

"Yeah… Uh, yes. At least, I think I do. I, I'm sorry, you just took me a little by surprise."

She shrugged a shoulder. "I'll admit Wraith was more than a little bit of a stretch after years of Indo-Aryan and Afro-Asiatic concentration."

John blinked but continued smoothly, "I'll bet."

The professor smiled at that. "But I can assure you, I can provide you a proper translation of Wraith writing."

"I'm thinking you wouldn't be with SGC if you couldn't."

"I studied it in hopes of joining the Atlantis expedition one day," she said with a sad smile.

"Well, there's nothing like good practice. It's over here. I'm - I'm sorry but it's written in, uh. Blood. Wraith blood, we think."

Sullivan's eyebrows rose but her only comment was, "An interesting choice of medium. Let's see it."

Upon first glance at the letters the woman started nodding. "You were absolutely right, Colonel. It's definitely Wraith symbolism. Written with the left hand, I'd say. The scribe was likely prone, on the floor by the angle of the characters." She reached a finger out to touch it, then hesitated. "May I?"

John saw no reason to fear contamination of evidence - joke to Ronon or not, they were more than a little beyond crime scene investigation. He nodded, only slightly surprised to see a civilian woman dipping a bare finger into drying Wraith blood. She cleaned up the smudges, sharpening up the characters, leaving behind only the deliberate lines.

Her eyes on the symbols, she traced the first with a hovered finger. "The Wraith language is remarkably similar to our own in construction. Symbols represent sounds. The main difference, of course, is Wraith physiology allows for sounds the human mouth and larynx can't form."

She cocked her head, in almost the same manner John had upon first seeing the writing. "The sounds represented here don't form any recognizable word." She started making silent movements of her mouth, rounding her lips and stretching out her neck, then shaking her head and trying different contortions of her face and throat.

She finally looked up, defeat clear on her face. "I'm sorry, Colonel. But I don't see that these two characters together would even _start_ any known Wraith word."

John took a deep breath, held it before exhaling his frustration. It'd been a long shot but it was the only clue they'd had. "Well, I appreciate your trying anyways, Dr Sullivan. It was worth a shot. I'll have your guard recalled to take you back to a secure area."

"I am sorry, Colonel. These characters - well they just don't fit. They shouldn't be together."

John wanted to laugh at how often he'd heard that recently. It was supposed to be an impossible situation, yet here it was.

"Like I said, your efforts are appreciated," was his offhand dismissal of her apology.

"Those sounds," she continued, "are just - I mean, they just aren't meant –" then she tipped her head back and made a sound deep in the back of her throat. A raspy, choked off exhale, rounded as it left her lips. Then she opened he mouth wide and breathed out a harsh 'yaaahhhh'.

John's eyes widened at the sight of this beautiful woman making such guttural, alien noises.

But there was almost something…

"Are those the sounds those two characters make?"

The professor didn't blush at being seen making such grotesque noises or having to twist her pretty features up to make them. She just nodded. Made them again. Then she studied him. "You hear something in this, don't you?"

"There's - there's no way", John protested. " I mean, I've heard more than my fair share of Wraith. There's no way though that I should be able to recognize it! It all sounds like hissing cats and backed up sink drains to me."

"Let me try to, um… Anglicize the sounds," the professor continued, undaunted. "The first is an aspirated velar plosive."

John let out a short bark of laughter. "Jeez, I though McKay was bad."

This time she did blush lightly. " Sorry. The first is like a 'k' breathed out. Like the k-h in khan." She made a k sound with breath rushing from the back of her throat. "Then it rounds as if followed by a long 'o'. Kho. The second is a close front rounded vowel, best represented by the letter y. In Wraith it is again, plosive though. Like the German word 'ja', but with more breath." She tipped her head back and let out a long, harsh, 'yaaaah.'

Then she put them together and it sent an involuntary chill down John's spine. "I'll be a son of a bitch," he muttered to himself.

"You recognize the word, Colonel?"

"It's not a word, it's a name. Kolya."

Sullivan shook her head. "Not familiar with it. Sounds possibly Eastern European?"

John barked out a harsh laugh. "Eastern Pegasus, maybe."

Sullivan made a little 'oh' of her mouth but said nothing further, clearly waiting on John to explain further.

But the name had too many images rearing their ugly Kolya heads at him. What the hell kind of message was leaving that man's name? In blood.

Todd's words from their last exchange came burbling back up, had John's heart slamming against his ribcage. "…as I slowly starve, keep reminding yourself that you are better than Wraith, or even the one who kept us both prisoner when we first met."

Was that it? Was it really a final _screw you, Jooohn Sheppard_ from the Wraith? Sheppard, as his captor and dungeon master, keeping him barely alive on goats and cows?

Todd had craved escape so badly he had been desperate enough to ally himself with John to get free. Why wouldn't he take extraordinary measures to get out once again? But how? He had no one to ally with… he shouldn't have been able to get out.

At a small cleared throat noise he looked up, startled out of his dark thoughts.

Sullivan gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, but I think my work here is done, Colonel? Permission to leave?"

Strange question for a civilian. He quirked a look at her. "You don't need to ask my permission, doctor."

She shook her head. "Sorry, sir. Colonel." At his raised eyebrows she chuckled. "_John._ Retired as a Lieutenant Commander - it's been four years but old habits die hard."

"Huh. Never took you for a squid."

At this she straightened her back, matched his raised brows. "Why not? What do you look for in a squid?"

He lifted his hands in surrender. "No, no. Nothing." Then he added, "I apologize. Old habits die hard, and all that."

"No apologies necessary," she smiled. "Besides, I wouldn'tve expected much better from a zoomie."

"Point, Sullivan," John muttered. Then he checked his watch, scowled and looked around the cell. "There's nothing more here for us."

"Agreed. Well, if you come across any more cryptic Wraith messages, you can reach me on my com."

John looked over at the lone Marine standing guard, considered his value in staying behind. He sighed, ran another look over the empty, tossed cell. Technically, it was an active crime scene. Then he glanced back at Sullivan. Former Lieutenant Commander or not, now she was an unarmed civilian.

"Come with me," he said abruptly.

"Are you _expecting_ more cryptic Wraith messages?" she asked dubiously.

"No. It'd be nice if Todd had left a little 'Gone fishing, back in an hour' note but no. But I can't spare a guard to take you back to a secure area."

Sullivan bristled, as he'd known she would. "Colonel, I can—"

"I know, I know. I have no doubt you could kick Wraith ass if needed, but humor me?"

Her smile was tight but she answered, "Fine. Can we stop by the armory?"

"It's on the way."

* * *

John rounded the corner, this time Sullivan at his heels. She had checked out the 9mm now riding her hip with a practiced ease. If his worry for her safety had maybe been a little overblown, at least she hadn't seen fit to rub it in.

"Please tell me you have something, Rodney."

The physicist popped his head up from behind the computer bank, dashed a 'what is she still doing here?' look at John then shook his head. "I've run every diagnostic on the system I can, starting from the most basic up. If I could just figure out where they got into the system, but I've eliminated every possible entry point. To a point."

"To what point, McKay?"

Rodney fumed. "While I was master of my domain on Atlantis, here at the SGC they haven't seen fit to give me ultimate clearance. Of course, given enough time I'm sure I could—"

"What do you need?" John cut in.

"Access has to have been made at the very highest level."

"Okay. I need to update Landry and I'll ask him to-"

"Higher than him," Rodney said tersely.

"Higher than… how high, exactly, Rodney?"

"The SGC falls under the purview of Homeworld Security and the Executive Branch of the US government."

"What, you want me to call the Secretary up, Rodney, tell her we need her password?"

"Har, har. I was thinking more locally. Like the ex Mrs Sheppard?"

"You think Nancy-?" John paused. Was she really that high up? He keyed his radio, uttered a brief command to the Marine he'd posted with her.

Rodney dove back into pecking feverishly at his keyboard.

John took the time to finally allow some of his OCD to take the reins, called in to Lorne for an update. It was actually good timing because no sooner had he gotten the rundown from his XO, when _his_ CO was in his ear. As he gave Landry the summation of all the areas cleared it was with an odd mixture of frustration and relief. No casualties found anywhere. Since Wraith weren't known to bother hiding the dried out corpses they left behind, it seemed a good bet there weren't any. Yet. But why? A Wraith on the move needed energy stores. Todd hadn't taken anything from his guards and he'd been nearly starved. A punch from Rodney could probably take him down in that state.

Just another unanswered question…

"Can I help with anything, Colonel?"

John turned to see Sullivan still there, standing in casual at ease stance. Before he could answer Rodney popped his head up. "I could use some coffee."

"McKay," John growled. "Dr. Sullivan isn't –"

"Isn't above getting coffee for a man hard at work, Colonel," she smoothed in. "That is," she added with a sly smirk, "if you think it's safe for me to go get some."

John rolled his eyes, considered the short route to the nearest break area and the memory of her nimble hands working the clip on her sidearm.

Rodney shrugged. "I really do need coffee."

"Fine. Go, be careful."

After she'd left, John scowled at his friend.

"What?" Rodney said innocently. "Oh, please. She's more fit than I am and you'd let me go get coffee."

"That's not the point, McKay."

"What? What, because she's a … a she? Might I point out—"

"No, you might not," John bit back. "She's a civilian," he added, then regretted the moment he saw Rodney's mouth pop open with a useless rejoinder. "Yes, I know, Rodney - an Earth based civilian. And like you'd ever get your own coffee."

"Point made," Rodney sighed. "Ah, the cavalry, thank God. Sparing us from another round of witty repartee."

Nancy came in, the Marine with her taking bodyguard to a whole new level. He was practically on top of her.

"Thanks, Sgt, I've got her from here."

The Marine looked sorely disappointed but left.

"Sgt Keenan was very kind and very vigilant," Nancy said.

"Oh, I'll bet he was," John remarked dryly. "Rodney is working on the security systems for the Mountain and hit an impasse."

"A temporary one," Rodney piped in.

"He hit an impasse," John repeated. "And he seems to think you might have access for where he needs to go." He said it doubtfully; he knew Nancy had been high up with Homeland but here, where she was so new …

"Of course," Nancy replied at his dubious look. She walked over, and Rodney rose from the chair while giving John a 'see?' look.

Several keystrokes later Rodney's eyes grew round. "Wow, you really do hold the keys to the kingdom!"

Nancy just smiled enigmatically, got up from the chair. Rodney immediately plopped back down and began typing, his grin growing wider by the second.

She didn't even try hiding her somewhat smug expression as she walked over.

John bowed his head at her in acknowledgment. "You are really moving up in the world."

Nancy's smile turned wistful. "It hasn't come without some sacrifices. But you know how that goes, _Colonel."_

He met her gaze for a long moment, and saw for the first time a true understanding. A synchronicity finally reached some ten years after their marriage had dissolved. He figured it would also be the closest he would come to learning why her ring finger was still bare.

"Here we are, three cups of steaming hot- sorry, sir, didn't see you had company."

Sullivan had entered the room juggling three waxed paper cups in her hands and arms. With the speed she'd entered with and the grimace on her face, John figured they were the usual breakroom molten sludge.

He quickly stepped over, took two of the cups from her, making his own hissing noise as he felt the burn through the cheap paper cup.

Quickly thrusting one into Rodney's outstretched hand, John put his down and blew on his fingers. Sullivan just blew across the top of hers briefly and sipped hers down.

"No sugar or cream?" Rodney asked, a hint of whine in his voice.

Sullivan took another sip at her coal sludge. "You didn't ask for any, Dr McKay…"

Rodney's scowl deepened

"But," Sullivan continued, digging into a side pocket of her cargo pants, "I had an idea you might like some." She pulled out several white packets and mini-moos, spilled them out onto the panel in front of Rodney. The physicist smiled, mumbled something that might've been a thanks and started ripping into the tiny containers.

"Quick thinking, Karen," John said with a smirk. "You averted a real tragedy."

"Hello, need coffee to work the miracles you demand," Rodney piped up as he stirred his concoction with his finger.

Then he saw Karen and Nancy looking expectantly at him. Oops.

"Dr Karen Sullivan, this is Nancy Beauchamp. She's uh, with Homeworld Security… she's…" He chewed a lip for a moment then turned to an amused Nancy. "You know I never did get your title beyond High Mistress of the Security System."

Nancy smoothly extended a hand to Karen. "My title is still being debated before Congress but I doubt it will contain the phrase High Mistress," she said wryly. "I'm somewhere between Secretary Clinton and- um, John," she added brightly, with a little dig.

Karen laughed, returned the handshake. "I'm in charge of our department's football pool. Oh, and I do a little translating on the side."

"She speaks Wraith," John chimed in, feeling for an unknown reason as if he had to defend her.

"Wraith?" Nancy exclaimed. "You _speak_ it? Wow, that'll probably get you access to things even I wouldn't get."

Ah, Nancy. A true diplomat at heart.

"All right, I think I'm getting something", Rodney suddenly announced. The three of them gathered around behind him as he continued to dance his fingers over the keys.

"What do you got, McKay?"

"I'm at the top user level of the mainframe thanks to the ex-Mrs. Colonel. I programmed a snooper that's backtracing the point that –" He looked up and cocked his head. "Who exactly do we think did this? I mean, Todd was confirmed in his cell. I guess I never really stopped to think…" His voice got lower, softer and he glanced at those gathered. "Are we really thinking someone - one of _us_ helped him escape?"

"Well, Rodney, everyone keep telling me there was no way Todd could've escaped the way he did. Only thing I can figure is he had to have had help. Since I doubt Wraith have been here in the Mountain without drawing any attention, the only other help he could've gotten was human."

"What did he bribe someone? This isn't Oz - he doesn't get cigarettes or coupons for extra toilet paper. He manage to open a secret bank account since we got back?"

"I don't know, Rodney," John fumed. He hated the idea that someone with the SGC could've helped a cold-blooded - literally- killer like Todd out." Maybe he used that funky Wraith mind control on them. Wraith worshippers opened a local chapter? Where's your snoopy thing pointing?"

"Snooper," Rodney corrected, then scowled as he realized John had done it deliberately. "And it isn't done yet."

"McKay! You called us over, saying you'd gotten something."

"No, I said I was _getting_ something. And I am. I didn't ask you all to come and hover like a pack of vultures over my shoulder." He reached over to grab his coffee; the addition of all the creamer had overfilled the already mostly full cup. His attention and other hand still typing, he clipped the side of the cup, knocking it over, splashing still scalding hot coffee onto Karen's leg.

"_Goh khordi!"_ she exclaimed as she reeled backwards with her own cup sloshing onto her hand.

John's eyebrows rose at the expletive and he coughed out a laugh.

Karen looked up, rolled her eyes and tried to look embarrassed. "You caught that huh? Shoulda known you'd speak Dari." She looked at Nancy. "Sorry, ma'am. I promise it was nothing worse than what you'd hear on South Park."

Meanwhile John had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it over to Karen, leaned close to say quietly, "I sometimes call Rodney Cartman."

She laughed, wiped the coffee from her hand, then laughed again as he declined taking back the sodden fabric.

From behind him John heard a distinct "AHEM". He looked up to see Rodney staring at them.

"If you two are done playing When Harry Met Sally, I have our entry point. And you are NOT going to believe who it was."

John stood outside the room, his .45 out, safety off. Four Marines and Ronon who probably counted as at least two more were ready with their own armaments in front of him.

He dashed a look at Rodney, hunkered behind a black-clad soldier, staring at an LSD in one hand, the other around a probe in the door controls. Hand gestures verified one life sign, still not moving.

John gave the signal and Rodney triggered the bypass. A battering ram swung the door in on its hinges and the men swarmed in, surrounding the room's only occupant, gun barrels leveled, Ronon's blaster whining to full red charge.

Even with the cut and dye job, John still saw the ridiculous blonde ponytail.

"You could've knocked. I would've opened the door," Kavanaugh said calmly from where he sat at his desk, a chess game on his lap top.

"Search him!" John ordered.

Kavanaugh was brusquely lifted to his feet. He stood still, placid smile on his face as a Marine frisked him from top to toe.

"He's clean, sir."

"He's as dirty as they come," John muttered. He eased the Beretta back into its holster.

"May I?" Kavanaugh asked casually as he gestured to the chair he'd been sitting in.

"You can stand," Ronon grunted.

John shrugged. "You heard the big man."

Rodney entered the room with two more Marines. He poked at his LSD, cast a glance around the room, counting its current occupants. "Just us," he reported. "And _him_," he added with distaste.

John thrust a chin at the two newest reinforcements. "Search the room."

Kavanaugh laughed. "Yes, by all means, search. In this oh, so spacious abode the SGC has seen fit to grant me, I'm sure there are plenty of places to hide a seven foot tall Wraith."

The closet was opened and tossed, a foot locker overturned and dumped of its contents, the bed lifted and stripped.

Rodney sat down in front of Kavanaugh's lap top and started scanning through it.

"Where is he, Kavanaugh?"

The physicist cocked his head, gave John and up and down look. "You got here earlier than I expected. Endgame with a ten year old South Korean brat. I had mate in four."

"Where is he?" John demanded again.

Kavanaugh rubbed his chin, loving playing the role of evil genius. "I covered my tracks pretty well, if I do say so myself." He looked over and scowled at Rodney, then his eyes lit up. "Don't think McKay gets to take credit for this one. I'm guessing you got a little help from the Homeworld bitch."

John's jaw tightened but before he could do anything Ronon reached out and belted the smarmy asshole. Kavanaugh dropped like a stone, rubbed at his jaw. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He'd always been a complete wimp, a whining sniveling coward. But he just chuckled to himself and wiped away the blood with the back of his hand. "Sorry. I meant the _Homeworld c—"_

Ronon growled, lunged out and hauled the scarecrow to his feet by his shirt.

"Ronon!" John shouted as the Satedan's fist drew back.

"I'll get answers out of him," Ronon snarled back.

"Can't get answers out of him if he's unconscious, Chewie," John said tightly. "You really think a wimp like Kavanaugh could take two of your hits?"

The physicist was putting on a good bluff but his knees wobbled; Ronon's hand fisted into his shirtfront was the only reason he was standing.

Ronon shoved hard, flinging Kavanaugh onto the stripped mattress. "He asked you a question, dickwad."

"Dickwad?" John asked. "You've been on Earth too long, big guy. But, it was a good choice." He sighed. They could bark at Kavanaugh all day and not get any closer to finding Todd. Besides, from what John remembered, the asshole loved the sound of his own voice.

"Alright, Kavanaugh. You wanna play Dr Evil, I'll play along. Why don't you regale us all with your plan to take over the world. You and Todd gonna demand one meellion dollars?"

The physicist straightened on the bed, sat up and wiped his bloody hand on the mattress.

"You'll never find him," was his only reply.

"Oh, yeah?" Rodney piped in. "We found _you!"_

"I was meant to be found," Kavanaugh sighed with exasperation. "My part in this has concluded."

"Your part?" John repeated. "Who else is involved?"

"It was my plan," Kavanaugh continued blithely. "Masterful, you must admit. It was my work that allowed the abomination to be taken from here."

"Your work?" John spat. "Your work killed two of my men!"

"Acceptable casualties, Colonel. I'm sure you know they are expected in war."

"War? What war?" John's face was growing red; he hated being led by the nose by this smug piece of crap. He swallowed, rubbed at the back of his neck at the knot of tension there. _Get a grip, John. Don't let him get to you._

"Acceptable casualties, huh?" he tried again. "Is that what you are? You got left behind, after all."

Kavanaugh's eye twitched; he struggled to maintain his cool façade. "I'm not a casualty. I will be taken care of."

"Taken care of?" John echoed with a snort. "Kavanaugh, where you're going the only thing you'll be getting is a small, cold cell guarded by Marines - you know - like the two you had murdered?"

The cool facade faltered and the man's already milky pale skin went ashen. "They're closing Gitmo," he said with forced bravado.

John laughed harshly. "This ain't your father's Army, son. This is the SGC. We do things a little differently. You don't need a Gitmo when you have the entire Milky Way at your disposal. I know the gate addresses of dozens of cold, barren planets. Or, if you prefer hot climes, a few have active volcanoes on them, just to keep things interesting."

"I have r-rights," Kavanaugh stammered. "This is all a bluff. You expect me to believe the legendary John Sheppard, Captain fucking America himself, would do that?"

"That's Colonel fucking America to you," John growled. "_And you have no idea what I've done._ Now where is Todd? And who was he working with?"

Kavanaugh's face went sullen, like a spoiled teenager's, lowering his gaze.

The look just pissed John off more. He stepped closer, close enough to smell the sweat now darkening the pits of Kavanaugh's uniform. Close enough to see the flinch at his approach.

How the hell had a sniveling whiny rat like Kavanaugh managed to orchestrate such a ballsy plan? And why would he want to help a Wraith escape? The man was a coward, through and through, concerned only in covering his own ass. John's threats weren't totally a bluff, and Ronon… hell, John was scared of the big man at times. So where was Kavanaugh getting the backbone? Why wasn't he spilling his guts, looking for a deal?

Then it dawned on him and his face lit with a fierce grin, showing all his teeth. "You don't know, do you, Kavanaugh? You were just a patsy. Left behind to take the fall. Todd's good at that, turning the tables when you least expect it."

Kavanaugh turned his head away, tried on a sneer but he wasn't fooling anyone anymore.

"Whatever you were paid, it wasn't enough," John said stonily. "And you'll never get to spend it."

Surprisingly, the scarecrow whipped his head up, fire once more in his eyes. "You think this is about money?" he spat. "Figures a rich asshole like you would immediately think about money."

John was taken aback and it must've shown.

"Yeah, we know all about you, Sheppard. Boarding schools, sports cars, thoroughbreds… Daddy kept throwing whatever he could at you, as long as it kept you out of his sight. He was pretty pissed though when the flying lessons backfired. He'd probably have bought you a Gulfstream if you hadn't joined the Air Force." He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Wow, such a rebel little Johnny Sheppard was. Course the military was a natural for a bully like you."

Ronon growled and dropped his hand to his blaster.

Kavanaugh laughed coldly. "Now you travel in a pack of 'em. The alien thug, the monstrous ego. That bitch Weir fit right in with your little gang."

"The only bullying I ever witnessed was yours, Kavanaugh," John replied as evenly as he could, his heart racing at the word Kavanaugh had used. _We._ "I had daily reports on my desk, complaints from your department about you. We kicked you out the first chance we got."

"Question is, whose pack did you fall in with once you got back here after the whole Midway debacle?"

Kavanaugh's smile was triumphant. "I was immediately approached on my return. They couldn't wait to gain access to my intellect."

"To your insider knowledge of Atlantis, you mean," John shot back, trying to keep the confusion off his face. _They? _Who the hell was Kavanaugh talking about? Todd had been on Earth under 24 hour surveillance for less than three weeks. "That's all they wanted from you, wasn't it, Kavanaugh?"

The blink told John all he needed to know. His own triumphant smile grew on his face. "They got all the intel they needed from you, then they convinced you how important your role would be." He stepped closer, his eyes boring holes in the cowering physicist. "Then they left you behind."

There was no reply so John pushed harder. "Who were they, Kavanaugh? Your _powerful friends?"_ He chuffed a laugh. "Please don't tell me it's the Trust."

"Do not even mention them in my presence, Sheppard," Kavanaugh spat. "Our reach is broader than those alien abominations. We are Earth's last defenders. We are legion."

"Legion?" John raised an eyebrow. "Where are they?" He cast his arms out, made a show of scanning the room. "Where's your legion, Kavanaugh? Cuz right now, I'm seeing one little asshole pissing in his uniform."

The physicist snorted, one last gasp of bravado, then began gnawing on the side of his pinky.

John shook his head broadly. "That's what I thought. Rodney? You getting anything off his computer?"

"He likes porn and World of Warcraft."

"Anything usable, McKay?"

"Still digging through the crap, but I'm thinking no."

John sighed, briefly considered giving Ronon a little more leash. "We're wasting time here." He popped his radio on. "Teyla?"

"_I am here, Colonel."_

"Anything?"

"_I believe I may have had a brief glimpse when I first started, but all I saw was darkness."_

"Was worth a shot. We have an update… can you meet us at Kavanaugh's quarters, Deck 23, East wing. It's the room with the door busted in and thick with Marines."

"… Dr. Kavanaugh?"

"One and the same. I'll fill you in when you get here. Sheppard, out."

"Hunting monsters with monsters."

John looked up, strode over and got into Kavanaugh's face. "What'd you say?"

"Ooh, hit a sensitive nerve, Sheppard? And here I thought you were only banging that bitch Weir."

John's hand flung out, backhanded Kavanaugh across the face, sent the man sprawling onto the floor. When Ronon's boot shot out, kicked him in his scrawny ass, John didn't stop it. When that same boot now lined up for Kavanaugh's soft belly John signaled him to stop. Ronon growled, bunched up his fists, looked ready to challenge him.

"Not worth it, buddy," John said quietly as he flexed his sore hand.

Ronon's eyes blazed. John knew the big man had a soft spot for Elizabeth and it cost him dearly to back off. But back off he did, wheeling about and stalking right out of the room.

"Looks like you weren't the only one with a hard-on for Weir," Kavanaugh chuckled through bloody lips.

John grabbed the man by his jacket, lifted him to his feet. His face so close he could feel Kavanaugh's warm, sour, stuttered breaths on his skin. "Say one more word about Weir or Teyla… I dare you."

"I'm done playing now. I want counsel, I want guards. I want. Away. From. You."

"Last chance, Kavanaugh. You want hope of ever seeing daylight again, tell me where Todd is."

Kavanaugh straightened as best he could within John's steely grasp. "You'll never find him."

"Wrong, Kavanaugh!" Rodney crowed from the desk. "You're always wrong. Wrong, wrong wrong. The monstrous ego says you're wrong."

"What do ya got, McKay?" John demanded as he shoved Kavanaugh away, into the arms of nearby Marine.

"Todd's signal."

"What- what signal?"

"His transmitter."

"The lo-jack? You said that was blocked or something."

"Not our transmitter - HIS transmitter. His Wraith signal is pinging."

"Wraith - he's signaling other Wraith?"

"Well, he's using it to signal _someone._ Sneaky bastard. We never knew he had one; it doesn't show up on our scans, which isn't surprising since most Wraith tech is organic in nature—"

"Rodney! Where the hell is the signal coming from?"

"Um… this can't be right." Rodney tapped at his laptop furiously, shook his head then sighed. "Um, he's already a couple hours west of here."

"Can you bring up-"

"Satellite imaging? On it." John watched as Rodney's fingers pounded away, saw his face fall as he looked up. "I've got nothing. Again."

"What the hell are you talking about, McKay?"

"I'm talking about nothing; no images captured by any of our satellites - or our allies', by the way, for the last three hours. Just static."

"Come on, you have to have something? We have how many satellites are in the air?"

"Hundreds and none of them are operational! I can't get any type of visual."

From behind him John heard Kavanaugh laughing.

Feeling a massive need to punch the wall, he balled his fists. "Then how are you tracking Todd if you can't get an image?"

"Because he pinged on my-wait a minute." Rodney studied his laptop. "The signal's being picked up by satellites used for cell phones. My computer's jacked into the SGC mainframe and I have it scanning all communication bands. We can't get all NCIS on him, but I can track him by using cell towers like sonar."

"Okay, plot an intercept point. We're going after him."

"It's not that easy. He's not even on a major road."

"How can you tell?"

"Because I've already cross-referenced all highways with his signal and no, I don't think he's in the air either. It's going to take time to figure out a pattern and then we can go chasing after him."

John wasn't going to wait that long. "I'll get a strike team ready. Plan on being wheels up in the next hour. With a possible destination," he added.

"Why don't you ask me to have him wrapped up in a bow?"

John stalked out of the room without replying.

* * *

From:Blocked  
To: Blocked  
Date:01.25.09  
Subject: Package

The package has been secured and is en route to transfer point. We've blinded all eyes in the air for the next six hours.

E.H

* * *

"_We had to go by chopper, didn't we?" _

John lowered the volume of Rodney's voice over his headset, tempted though he was to flip it all the way off. "We need to get there fast."

"_Fast is trans-warp, or a ride on the Daedalus, or I don't know… A jumper?"_

"Don't have any of those at our disposal at the moment."

Rodney's face was a matching shade of his olive helmet, fingers white knuckling his tablet. "_Yes, well, we do have jets and other aircraft that don't cause me to actually experience the physics of real turbulence. I'm going to make recreating inertial dampeners a top priority once Area 51 is up and running again." _

"We need to be maneuverable and land on a dime if we have to. Can't do that with a fixed wing," came John's reply.

"_And where are we headed? We're not one of those storm chasers. At first we thought it was Vegas and that was two hours ago. Now, we're just heading west."_

John grit his teeth. It took longer than expected to get the mission approved with the carte blanche needed to do anything on site. Including taking over a city-block if need be, which required some political back-up in the form of a certain former-Sergeant Bates. The two of them had worked well together during the last Earth emergency. Not the most pleasant of times, but Bates was good at what he did.

And that was opening bureaucratic doors and dealing with the local authorities.

He glanced at his watch and cursed. Todd had been gone for seven hours and counting.

Lorne was in a second Hawk, Sergeant Jameson in the third. They could have all loaded up in a Chinook- it was faster- but the Hawk could get them into tighter spots if need be, and it was loaded with more firepower, just in case. He thanked the fact that the SGC'd had a few Army birds hanging around.

"_Hello? Anyone in Colonel Land?"_

"We've made up a helluva a lot of time in the air. We're almost on top of him." John tried staring out the front windshield from his seat.

There might have been a huff, it was hard to tell with McKay's chin strap and the roaring noise of the blades. "_I'm surprised you didn't take over the cockpit as soon as we boarded. I've never seen anyone look so longingly at a set of controls before."_

"This coming from the guy who starting jonsing when his Krups was taken away." John pointed at Rodney's laptop. "Are you keeping track of Todd?"

Rodney turned around the screen. "_Of course. I can also chew gum and walk at the same time. I can multitask like that."_

One of the Marines gave the physicist a pained expression and John keyed his headset. "Let's maintain radio silence unless it's urgent."

Once the radios were silent John went back to chewing over all the unanswered questions. The headsets and constant but familiar growl of the chopper blades blocked out all other noise, leaving him with just his thoughts, uninterrupted for the first time since he'd woken up that morning.

Who had helped Todd escape and why? Kavanaugh's ramblings made it clear that 'we' wasn't just him and Todd. And the traitorous physicist had referred to Todd as an abomination. So again, why help a killing machine like Todd escape the only secure place they'd had for him?

And who was Todd signaling? Todd's transmitter was part of his physical body. Only he had the power to turn it on and off. Were there other Wraith on the planet? John was certain none of the darts had managed to beam off any Wraith, and there was no way, Wolverine level healing powers or not, that any had survived the kamikaze run on 51.

Of course, mystery numero uno was the strange message Todd had left. Todd had markers and paper. If he'd been planning an escape and wanted to leave one of his typical taunting, obscure to anyone but a psychopath messages, why not really do it up right? A smear of his own blood on the floor? Kolya. John felt his face growing hot under the helmet. Was he really like the man he hated more than any other in either galaxy?

He shook his head, rubbed at the sweat gathering under his sunglasses. Todd had been trapped on Atlantis because he'd been there of his own free will. It wasn't like John had deliberately captured him, taking him prisoner… Oh, shit.

John keyed his radio on. "Todd turned his transmitter on."

Rodney snorted into his mike. "_Very good. Next you'll be ordering up a fleet of choppers for us to—"_

"No, I mean Todd turned on his transmitter. For _us_ to follow."

"_Why on earth would he want us to know where he is? Of course, this is Todd, we're talking about. You think this is a trap?"_

"No, I think Todd was taken. I don't think he's a fugitive, I think he's a hostage. Or something."

There was no reply from Rodney.

"Look, McKay, I know it sounds crazy but use your oversized brain and work it out. You said yourself it should've been impossible for him to escape. We know Kavanaugh got access at a level _way_ higher than he should've had. Which means at least one more person, high up in the SGC, IOA or government gave him that access. Todd may be a big kahuna back in Pegasus but here… there's no way he'd have any way to orchestrate any of this."

"_Go on."_

"The message, in his blood. Kolya. Think what that bastard did."

"_I'd been wondering why he never, um, fed,"_ Rodney said tentatively.

"Yeah," John sighed. "I'd been so busy being relieved there weren't any casualties, it never hit me to think deeper into it. Todd's been…" He hesitated before saying the words he hadn't wanted to even think. "Todd's been starved for at least three weeks. You really think he wouldn't grab a few snacks for the road?"

"_I've been side monitoring police band radios – my computer's scanning for reports of desiccated corpses. No hits."_

"I think Todd's been sending us his signal, hoping we'll find him."

"_Well, I guess we'll know soon enough. The signal stopped moving."_

"Where?" John demanded.

"_Getting coordinates. Hold on...Got it! North 34.86°; South 33.28°; West 119.10° and East: 117.30°,"_ Rodney spouted off.

"You copy that?" John asked their pilot.

"_Affirmative. Entered the target into the computer, will find a place to land."_

Peering out the window, John tried making out what gigantic metropolitan area they were entering, dreading the answer. They'd been in the air a long time. "Where are-"

"_Northeast of downtown Los Angeles, sir." _

Crap. This wasn't going to be a nice and quiet op. "Contact Vandenburg Air Force Base, let 'em know we're right outside their back yard," he radioed their pilot.

"_And Twentynine Palms, sir." _

John blinked, not that the Corporal could have seen it behind his helmet's shield.

"_Air Ground Command, sir."_

Right, the Marines' largest training center. They could have the Corp's finest block off the whole city-if it came to that. "Thanks, Corporal."

John pulled out his secured Blackberry. His phone was literally jacked-in to all the right channels, and he texted the latest to Woolsey, preparing those at the IOA for the inevitable shit storm if they had to cordon off part of a major city.

"How's satellite imaging coming, McKay?"

"_Still down."_

There were never any small favors. John tapped in the coordinates of Todd's location into his own tablet, trying to zero-in on exactly where he was. Union Station. The bastards were smart, switching around routes to mimic using a truck to transport the Wraith, but there was no mistaking now that they'd been changing trains just in case they'd been leaving a trail.

"_We're coming on to the target," _the pilot radioed. "_There's a Homeland Security department location one mile away, sir. Should I land there?"_

"Affirmative."

Bates is going to love this, John thought.

"_Colonel Sheppard."_

Speaking of.

"Come in."

"_Colonel, you do realize that this office is for Immigration and Custom Enforcement? They don't have the type of resources we need to-"_

"All we need is a place to land. I'm sure you can brief them on the situation. I mean technically, we are helping with the apprehension of an illegal alien."

"_That is the worst joke ever,"_ Rodney mocked.

John shrugged.

It wasn't like three Black Hawk helicopters could swoop in and land on the rooftop of a commuter rail station without causing mass panic. He was glad Bates was along for the ride. Having an ex-military guy on their side to keep the bureaucrats off his back would be key to keep the op moving.

They disembarked and regrouped on the south end of the parking lot, the rotor blades slowly dying enough to be heard over. All three teams assembled in a circle while Bates made a beeline for the pack of panicked suits headed their way. It must have been a sight to witness: three heavily armed assault teams hanging out by their cars.

John tapped his earpiece. "Bates, ask them for a map of Union Station."

"_One thing at a time, Colonel."_

Lorne stepped over, hands resting over his P-90. "You got a plan, sir?"

Releasing a breath, John checked his watch and adjusted the hour based on time zones. "Yeah, we're going to conduct a search and rescue operation during the height of rush hour, pissing off the locals, stranding passengers, and inconveniencing a whole bunch of people to keep one of the most dangerous security threats to the planet from disappearing into enemy hands."

"Can't wait to hear all the details," Lorne deadpanned. "Wait... _Search and rescue?"_


	4. Chapter 4

Locating and acquisitioning three vans to take them across the street wasted twenty minutes. Ronon was keen on running by foot toward the train station, but they needed access to secured areas away from civilians and to the tracks.

"Are we going in, as you would say, _guns blazing?"_ Teyla inquired, the turn of phrase not far off the mark.

"We're not exactly inconspicuous. Might as well hang signs around our necks advertising military black ops." The other Marines and Ronon stared at Rodney and he cleared his throat and pecked at his computer. "I'm just pointing out the obvious. As soon as we start sweeping the tracks, whoever took Todd is going to see us."

"Not if you tell us which train he's on." John was being serious and he gave Rodney that _you need to work your magic_ expression.

"It doesn't exactly.. .Look. I can give us a general vicinity. Within three hundred meters." Rodney matched his serious look with one of his own. "It's the best I can do."

"Then we'll have to make it work."

It didn't take long to arrive behind one of the larger platforms, the GPS coordinates they'd been given directing them through all the service roads, a flash of their badges taking onward through security. They unloaded as discreetly as possible, considering they were brandishing automatic weapons and carrying enough C-4 to blow up half the yard. The area was clear of civilians except for a small group headed in their direction in a hurry.

With the enemy on the grounds, no one took those approaching without caution, several Marines stepping forward and meeting the strangers half way.

Jameson held up his rifle, the rest of his unit covering him. "Identify yourselves."

"We don't have time for this," Ronon growled.

"Bill Matthews, director of operations," the business suit introduced himself, breathing hard from his rush over. He handed Jameson his ID badge. "I was informed about your arrival by Homeland Security.

Jameson gave John an 'all clear' nod and Matthews gestured at a police officer dressed in SWAT gear and armed with an MP5. "This is Mike Shannon, he's in charge of security."

The burly officer gave a curt nod. "Sirs."

"And I'm Ryan Burke, ATF supervisor for this station," the third guy introduced himself, finger at his earpiece to listen to something.

"Have all the railway platforms been evacuated?" John inquired, getting straight to the point.

Matthews took a wrinkled handkerchief with a meaty hand, mopping his brow and over whisps of silver hair. "We have seven major lines at this hub, servicing Vegas, LA, Seattle, New Orleans and..."

"Did you shut them down or not?" John snapped impatiently.

"Over a hundred trains run through here daily, including those we've diverted and others that are stuck on tracks, waiting to enter. Not to mention the local commuter rails and-"

"Yes or no?"

Matthew's face was flushed despite the cool air and he glared at them all. "Yes!" Then he hesitated. "Well, most of them."

"What the hell does that mean?" John snapped.

"I just got the order and it takes time to conduct a full shut-down."

"How long?" Lorne asked.

"Twenty minutes," Shannon, the head of security answered, giving his boss some much-needed back up. With a glance at his watch he added, "we just initiated it. Should be another ten and all traffic will be halted."

"Are the cargo trains separate from the commuter?" Rodney asked, never looking up from his tablet.

Taking his glasses off to rub his eyes, Matthews slipped them back on. "No, Union Pacific, Metrolink and Amtrak all use the same lines."

"Fan-tastic," Rodney muttered and shook his head. "I can't get a tighter focus on the signal. He's here." And he swept a hand across the whole station. "But I have no idea where."

"Sir," Shannon stepped toward John, hands closing the Velcro straps on his bulletproof vest. "If we knew the type of threat we're facing, we could-"

"Sorry, need to know," John cut him off regrettably, hating having to keep a fellow uniform in the dark. He turned to all three teams. "Alright. We'll do a grid search, checking every cargo train."

"What about the passenger ones?" Teyla inquired. "Could Todd be..._hidden _somehow?"

Gnawing on his lip, John shook his head. "I don't think they'd take such a risk. If we strike out searching the-"

"Oh, no."

Whirling on Rodney, John stared at the computer screen that had the man in a panic. "Oh, no? What's oh, no?"

"I lost the signal."

"What? How?"

"I don't know how!" Rodney yelled, smacking his keyboard. "No, no,no." Cradling the laptop, he sat heavily on the ground and started typing commands in earnest. "Come on! You piece of crap."

"McKay?"

"I don't know what happened, but the signal's dead!"

"I thought it was part of him – you said it was-"

"I know what I said. Either Todd turned it off himself or they turned it off for him. Which… can't be good."

"Well, he was here just a minute ago and we're not letting him get any further." John checked the safety of his P-90. "We stick to the plan. Lorne you take the east, Jameson, your team the west side. Use a V pattern. My team will start at the far north end and we'll meet in the middle."

Matthews eye's widened. "There are hundreds of cars to a train, Major-"

"That's Colonel Sheppard," Jameson corrected.

The ATF agent who'd been studiously quiet spoke up. "There's ten cargo trains dead on the tracks now. Anywhere from three hundred to eight hundred boxcars per train. You'll need a lot more men to search them all, sir."

It was a needle in a haystack, but John focused on what he could control. "Major, get Bates on the horn, tell him we need additional manpower."

"Yes, sir."

"Wait! How long is this going to take?" Matthews exclaimed, verging on a coronary. "If you think that a major rail hub is going on lock down based on…based on nothing! You have another think coming. I have passengers who-"

"Your passengers' safety is our number one concern," Teyla soothed. "We are here to ensure they do not come to harm."

"Look, see it from my point of view," Matthew beseeched. "The terror level hasn't been raised. It doesn't sound like we're under a biological or bomb threat. I'll follow your requests, but I wasn't able to halt everything and trains have already left the hub. If you're searching for someone. He might already be gone."

"You better hope not," John growled and gestured toward his people. "Let's move out."

* * *

Frustration formed into knotted shoulder muscles and a furious thudding of John's heart against his chest. The life signs detector's limited range only covered the length of ten boxcars, forcing them to run along each train.

"They stretch for so far," Teyla commented in awe.

John remembered times waiting at a crossing signal, Dad impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, the train taking five even ten minutes to run by. His radio squawked with 'negatives on target' and 'covering the next twenty cars.'

An hour in and all three teams had only scanned four trains with six more to go. All the while the bad guys could have bailed and gone, covering from overhead… his gut told him Todd was gone. That the enemy had bugged out already.

The Marines from Air Ground Command had a perimeter set up a quarter of a mile out in all directions, checking all outbound cars and trucks without luck.

Union Station was on lock-down and it wasn't enough.

"_Colonel Sheppard, we're not picking up any life signs on the remaining trains, over."_

"Copy that, Captain. Do one more sweep."

"_Will do, sir."_

Nothing. They had nothing!

John yanked out his radio piece and curled his fingers around it, hand trembling. It took every last ounce of willpower to resist hurling it across the yard before he quickly stuffed it back inside his ear. He began pacing, boots pounding the ground, his breathing matching the ratcheting thunder of his heart. And instead of channeling all his pent up frustration, it only revved all his anger into a boiling crescendo. He unhooked the straps to his tac vest so his lungs could expand; his thumb got caught on one and he ripped the rest of it free, his chest heaving.

Non-stop hours of tracking down every clue, ripping apart the mountain, ripping Kavanaugh's head off, and choppering in three assault teams into Union Station. And Todd slipped right through their damned fingers. He stumbled over a piece of rebar, nearly tripping. Cursing, he snagged the iron rod and sent it sailing through the air, his internal fuel tank sputtering empty with that final burst of energy.

His knee aching, he wandered toward one of the empty trains and leaned against the heavy cast-iron car, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

A hand touched his shoulder and he saw Teyla peering over him. "Are they calling off the search?"

Blowing out a breath and rubbing at his knee, John wiped at the sweat beading over his face with the back of his arm. "Think so. All civilians were cleared off the tracks and they're not picking up any heat signatures."

Not to mention the gridlock created for thousands of people, but John couldn't allow himself to care about that.

"We're gonna need to re-group. Come up with another plan," he said, pushing himself off the steady support.

His fingers reached for his earpiece, but Teyla took them. "I'm sure Major Lorne can arrange for our transportation and something to eat while we discuss out next steps."

With a tired smile he nodded, knowing they could all use a little time to recharge before the next battle.

* * *

His Blackberry vibrated non-stop with text after text inquiring about their next steps, the tenth and eleventh ones none too subtlely requesting that they be made without inquiring the wrath of the local mayor. John rolled his eyes at that one and plunked the phone onto the conference room table.

Teyla snatched it up with one quick motion, thumbing the off switch. "I think you're allowed a few minutes peace without this thing constantly rattling."

Arguing with her was pointless; he replaced his phone with a Styrofoam cup of bad instant coffee and a ham sandwich from the vending machine. Ronon chowed down on his second sub, while Rodney pulled the pickles off his and inspected the Grade D meat with disgust.

"If I wasn't so damn hungry, I'd put this in a petri dish and study it for intelligence," he mumbled before taking a giant bite, the mustard squirting out the sides. With a grumbled curse, he found a napkin before spreading it all over his fingers.

The rest of the Marines were piled up in the adjoining room, eating dinner while John's team went over things in their temporary command center with Lorne and Bates.

"We need theories about Todd's next possible location," John started off, before swallowing the last of his sandwich.

"Depends if he was loaded onto a truck or was put on another train that left before the whole station was shut-down," Lorne suggested.

"Does it matter how he was transported?"

"What do you mean?" John asked Teyla.

Glancing at the map of the United States tacked to the wall contemplatively she wet her lips. "Whoever took Todd, did so for a reason. We should focus _where_ they want him to end up."

"We talked about that already," Ronon interjected. "We don't know anything, but all that matters is how."

Rodney gave up on cleaning the stain on his shirt and released a long-suffering sigh. "No, you're both right. Truck, train, bicycle or catamaran. They, whoever, they are, need to get him away from the United States and somewhere remote where no one can touch them. Or even look."

"Alright and that would be?" John pressed, a half a dozen locations flashing through his mind.

"That doesn't matter either, because once he gets there, we'll never find him. It's the drop-off point in between. He was in Los Angeles. Why?" Without waiting for a reply, Rodney's fingers glided over his keyboard. "It's an international gateway to any other part of the world. If we can figure out the mode of travel, we can calculate where he is now."

"That leaves air or sea," John pondered, standing to study the map. "_If _we're talking globally."

"Or if they haven't changed plans," Ronon grunted.

"There are dozens of private and public airports, excluding military. We're talking thousands of flights," Rodney supplied. "And I don't even think the IOA has enough pull to ground them all based on a theory."

"I hear a _but_ in there." John bent over to view his teammate's laptop. "You're working on something."

"I am," Rodney replied, squinting at the rolling data. "And if you give me a few more minutes, I'll... Aha!" The group gathered around the computer and he glared at them. "Air, people. I need to breathe."

"We're running out of time, McKay."

Rodney dismissed John's words with an irritated wave of his hand. "I'm keenly aware of that. Which is why I'm trying not to waste any more. _There."_ Turning the screen for everyone to see he went on. "The port of Los Angeles. Ticket to anything across the Pacific and right on the rail line to Union Station."

"That's really good, McKay," Bates said with a clap on his shoulder and then fumbled with his phone when it buzzed.

John ignored Bates as he walked out of the room to take the call, his eyes glued to the port on the map. It was huge. "That's good work, McKay. Do you think you can-"

"Locate what cargo ship might have a Wraith on board?"

"Yeah."

"Um, no. The computer isn't a fortune teller." Rodney ignored John's dagger-of-death stare and tabbed over a few pages. "I can however, bring up all the cargo trains that arrived from Union Station within the last two hours."

"And?" John prompted testily, knowing Rodney's flair for the dramatic.

"There were four within that window. They already arrived, but fear not. I'm hacking into Union Pacific's computer tracking system that keeps a log of all cargo containers that enter from the rail-yard and where they are transferred before being loaded onto a ship."

The room was silent with anticipation, everyone hanging on Rodney's words.

"Oh, for crying out... it seems their system is down! I'm sure _that's_ not a coincidence."

There was a collective groan, because that it had been going way too easy.

"But," Rodney turned around in his seat. "There was a single train that left Union Station at the time we arrived. It has to be the one."

"If Todd was on a train," Ronon mumbled.

"The signal said he was. If I cross-reference the time it stopped transmitting and when this train took off… I bet it was within minutes," Rodney defended.

"Without using their database, do you think you can figure out where the cargo is?" Lorne asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

"I'm no expert on shipyards, but I'm sure there's some system involved. In Canada, trains arrived on the same schedule, on the same tracks etc. In a giant freight yard, I'd assume there's a similar type of redundancy."

"That's good enough for me," John declared, throwing away his wrappers. "We'll chopper in and this time, with reinforcements. If we lose him in this shipyard, we lose him for good."

Bates stood in the doorway, clearing his throat with a weary expression. "I'm not sure about those reinforcements."

"Why not?" John growled.

Ronon stood to his full height, shuffling forward with a desire to vent his frustration physically.

Bates was professionally cool and collective, but even he didn't seem to enjoy the bullshit he was about to spew. "Chatter's gone through the roof in the last hour. We have warning alerts on all major airports and talk of gas attacks in metropolitan areas. Everyone has to be on stand-by for a possible terror attack."

"Damn it! You know that's all crap. That whoever got into Mountain has the ability to screw with us like this?" John was pissed, on the verge of joining Ronon in his need to punch something.

"I know, Colonel, but right now, Homeland has to take the uptick in threat levels seriously and until you have an accurate lead on Todd, you're not going to get any additional resources when we have to triple patrols on the border and gear up for a possible large scale deployment."

The two of them glared at one another and John clenched his jaw, knowing he'd get no back up from anyone else without Todd's signal magically appearing like a bull's eye. "I'm keeping my three teams and the choppers."

Bates relaxed a little, knowing that John understood he was against a wall. "Of course. They're resources of the SGC. And if you get a 100% definite read on your target, you can have an entire base as back-up."

"Need all access to the port authority and full cooperation."

"You got it, Colonel. Let me make a few calls and I'll meet you guys at the choppers."

Bates was out like a flash and John gathered his gear, his team following suit behind him.

"You'd think for a global emergency, we'd get more help," Rodney mumbled.

Not when the enemy had been five steps ahead of them with virtually limitless power and control. But one thing about arrogance, it bred carelessness, and John didn't have a problem with being underestimated if it meant he caught the bad guys.

* * *

"_We're two miles out, sir,"_ their pilot radioed.

"Copy that, Captain," John answered as he double-checked the schematics of the shipyard on his Blackberry. "Land us at the LAXT terminal. I'm not going to give these bastards time to slip away again."

Bates had already threatened, name dropped and laid the political smack-down over the phone. All sixteen lanes in and out of the port had been shut down and trains were not allowed to enter or exit the premises. John was about to flip his Blackberry closed when a text pinged and he double-tapped the message.

_From: Nancy_

_Pulled some strings. Three squads are standing by at Camp Pendleton. If you get in trouble, text 911 and they'll be deployed. ETA under twenty minutes._

_Good Luck_

A slight smile tugged at his lips. Who would have ever thought his ex-wife would be covering his team's six.

John peered through the window at the sprawling seven thousand acre harbor, the sun beginning to set on the horizon. There were dozens of ships docked at the south side, gigantic gantry cranes loading the steel beasts with cargo. He couldn't guess at the number of shipping containers, somewhere in the thousands, creating endless rows for trucks and cars to navigate through.

"_Are you kidding me? Sheppard, this place is as big as Atlantis,"_ McKay's voice shouted in his ear.

"Good thing we know where we're going, huh?"

It was a mini industrial city and among all that hustle and bustle was their single target. They passed over the five story ICTF tower, no doubt those inside monitoring their arrival.

Ronon inched closer to him with an impressed expression at the sprawl below. "_Think we can trust the info we got?"_

"Bates talked to all the right channels, so we're gonna have to," John answered.

Teyla maneuvered to get an eyeful, her face struck in awe. "_It still astounds me, the scale of everything on this planet. I can only hope those in Pegasus will one day become as advanced."_

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and mentally went over the game plan. To operate such a massive undertaking, every detail of the terminal was meticulously scheduled and organized. All cargo from Union Station was stored at the LAXT terminal until the containers were transported to the proper ships.

If Todd hadn't already been moved.

"Life signs, McKay?" John demanded.

"_Um...we're looking at about ten."_

John radioed one of the other choppers. "Bates, can you confirm all civilians were evacuated from this terminal?"

"Affirmative, Colonel."

"We've got ten bogies and we're about to crash the party. Everyone stay on your toes."

"Landing in sixty seconds," the captain informed them.

The chopper touched ground and they disembarked quickly, everyone meeting in the center of the impromptu landing area, the coming evening illuminated by rows of light posts.

John turned to Bates after he was done updating the port authority on the phone. "I want you to remain here." He held out his hand, cutting off any protest. "I need to make sure this place remains clear of civilians. If the area gets hot and we're in the middle of a fire fight, I don't want people or security running over here to investigate."

"But I could..."

"We don't need victims of friendly fire."

With a curt nod, Bates still checked the safety of his sidearm. "Got it. Sorry. Call it a leatherneck's desire to be in the action."

He gave an envious sideways glance at McKay, but there was no argument about his involvement. Rodney was a part of John's team and after five years, he'd proven his worth in combat situations. John fished out his LSD, locating the enemy, who were forming a defensive perimeter. Based on the concentration of men in the middle, he knew exactly where Todd was located.

"Okay, I think we made a loud enough entrance. They know we're coming. We'll use a simple three prong assault. Jameson, when I give the signal, move ahead and toss your flash bangs at their center of gravity. We'll do a five count and the rest of us will pop some smoke to keep them disoriented." Shaking the LSD for emphasis, he went on. "Each team has a gene carrier. We'll use the life signs detectors to our advantage. Let's break 'em up into smaller groups and take them out. Got it?"

Jameson loomed like a tower and readied his weapon. "Affirmative, sir. It'll be easy pickings."

"Hey, don't underestimate these guys. They got a Wraith out of Cheyenne; something tells me we're dealing with ex-military," Lorne reminded him.

Jameson and Lorne each led five man teams, giving them a slight advantage.

Teyla shouldered her weapon, closing her eyes. "I can sense a Wraith nearby. We are in the correct place."

"Once we take out the enemy, we'll locate our primary target. We all have stunners just in case Todd isn't secured, but something tells me they have him locked-down tight." John's LSD displayed the dots holding steady and he donned his orange protective eye goggles along with the others. "Alright, let's go."

Ronon and Teyla were in the middle while he led the way, with McKay covering their six. The shipyard was a tactical nightmare, rows of red, green and brown boxcars stretched end to end, further than the eye could see. The obstructions gave way to sporadic clusters of cargo tanks, providing ample cover for either side to use.

Some of the containers were stacked three and four high, with gaps in between them for the enemy to maneuver in and out of. The flashing dots stood their ground.

John clicked his radio three times and Jameson darted forward, ducking by an abandoned forklift and flinging five flash bangs like an NFL quarterback. The area lit up like the Fourth of July and the other two teams converged from the left and down the middle, John's team came from the right, each holding position long enough to throw smoke grenades.

John's eyes flicked to the LSD, the order to move on the tip of his lips, when the screen fluttered and returned to life with _thirty _white dots.

"It's a trap!" Rodney yelled. "They have triple-"

A invisible force knocked John to the ground, his body slamming the pavement. Paralyzed by pain and numbness, it took a minute to recognize being hit by the tail-end of a stun bomb blast. No one had lodged a bullet in his brain, so some of bad guys had to have been compromised by the smoke and flash bangs.

Rolling to his side with a groan, a hand grabbed him by the tac vest and lifted him to his feet. Before he could raise his weapon, Ronon's bulk steered him toward two stacked sets of containers and shoved him in between them. Rodney came stumbling a few moments later, dragging Teyla.

The world stopped buzzing and John's vision cleared enough to focus on their latest fubar. There was shouting and confusion and he waited for the LSD screen to stop spinning, observing eight flashing dots move past ten frozen others.

Damn it! Everyone else had gotten the full exposure to the stun.

Teyla was still a bit wobbly, but nodded that she would be fine and all of them huddled between the metal structures. They were sixty seconds out before being discovered. Gripping his LSD, Rodney signaled where the bad guys were headed and the four of them started to back out the opposite direction. Ronon peered over Rodney's shoulder to view the screen, eyes flicking to John's as they both came to the same realization.

They needed to outflank these guys.

"Go," he ordered. Ronon disappeared without a word and John hunkered down with Rodney and Teyla in the darkness. "We need to catch them in a cross-fire," he breathed in their ears.

Both nodded in unison and they circled backwards to avoid detection, taking cover behind a dark blue container with peeling yellow lettering. The dots were in an arrow column formation which was _still_ counted as a straight line. Attack the front and rear and the whole thing fell apart.

A tiny voice cut through the din of thousands of competing thoughts and John yanked out his cell phone. He couldn't believe it slipped his mind. Racing through his contact list, he jabbed his finger over Nancy's name, tapped out 9-1-1, and hit send before quickly tucking it away.

Rodney became their vision, signaling where the enemy line was heading. They played cat and mouse, staying out of range, creeping around containers, biding their time for Ronon to get into position.

The enemy was in sight, eight men in black commando fatigues and heavy vests were within twenty yards. John kept constant tension on the trigger and locked eyes with Teyla. 'Aim for the legs,' he mouthed.

Holding five fingers up, Rodney ticked each one down in a silent countdown. On zero he gestured with his pointer, and John and Teyla popped around and aimed for below the knees.

The first three surprised commandos fell in a heap as Ronon attacked the rear, bullets and red weapon bursts cut down the formation. There was no time or room to scatter and the two soldiers in the middle were caught in opposing lines of fire and quickly picked off.

John and Teyla ran over and kicked all weapons out of reach, while Ronon stunned those too busy writhing on the ground to react. There was no hauling around the extra rifles, but Rodney snapped up the ammo clips, emptying and scattering the bullets, making it difficult for anyone else to use them.

"Status?" John barked.

Breathing hard, Rodney studied his screen. "All the other dots are staying put except for one."

"Where?" Ronon demanded before John could.

"About a twenty meters over-"

"Get down!" John shouted.

Firecrackers went off above their heads. John dived next to Rodney who let out a startled yelp. "Move!" John screamed, adrenaline coursing through him, body hugging the ground as he crawled toward the closest cover.

Gunfire pelted the top of the container and John realized that the sniper had a perfect bead on them.

"We are exposed!" Teyla yelled, her right arm bleeding. She shook her head at John's questioning look. "It's from a ricochet. I'm-"

A hail of bullets peppered inches above her head and another set kept Ronon pinned down on the other end.

"The sniper hasn't moved, but we should," Rodney panted, flat on his belly.

"We need to blind him," John growled, thinking this was the perfect stalling technique.

"No more smoke fumes, please, I need my brain cells!" Rodney complained.

"You're a genius, McKay," John grinned. "That's exactly what we'll use."

As if reading his thoughts, Teyla matched his smile. "Let Ronon and I to go after him."

That was going to be his suggestion; his knee was extra painful after smashing the asphalt, and he wasn't in shape for a fast sprint. He pulled out his last smoke grenade, the pin between his fingers. Rodney and Teyla readied each of their canisters. Ronon cut a piece of his shirt into strips with his knife, handing one to Teyla and they both wrapped them loosely around their nose and mouths.

The sniper took another pot shot, the bullet pinging off the wall and almost striking John in the shoulder. "Enough of this."

They simultaneously popped smoke and threw the grenades in three different directions to produce a encompassing cloud. John squinted against the grainy smear and fired at the enemy's position, providing additional cover for his teammates to slip under. By the time the sniper could peer down his scope again, he wouldn't know where to track them.

"What about us?" Rodney squawked, orange eye gear obscuring his face, nose planted into his sleeve.

"Keep the guy busy..." John coughed, his throat and nasal passages raw from the smoke. "Just keep shooting in his general direction."

They were both in line for hearing aids after this, the P-90's amplified by all the surrounding metal. Sniper Guy didn't take another shot and Rodney demonstrated his multitasking skills by checking the LSD _and_ firing another volley. "It looks like the guy is on the move."

John tapped his radio to warn Ronon and Teyla, but Rodney began shouting excitedly. "They're too close together now. I think-"

"_John, we got him,"_ Teyla's voice echoed blissfully in his ear. "_We are returning to you."_

That left twenty enemy forces, but Rodney anticipated his question. "No one's budged. They're not coming after us."

John's team was outnumbered and it would be another fifteen minutes until back-up arrived. Their options were limited and he mulled over the next steps while Teyla and Ronon made their way back.

"What now?" Ronon asked barely seconds after arriving.

Rodney was appalled, his voice shrill in the cover of closing darkness. "What do you mean what? I don't know if you noticed, but we're the only ones standing!"

"We've got back-up on the way," John announced to his team's surprise. "Call it an ace in a hole."

"Should we get a closer look? Scout out the situation for when reinforcements arrive?" Teyla paused, her eyes reflecting a far away sort of daze. "I still sense a Wraith."

A repeat of the train station was unacceptable. Todd could still be stowed aboard any one of dozens of ships, some headed to countries beyond the IOA's reach.

John's decision was an easy one. He took out a field bandage, handing it to Teyla who inclined her head in thanks and began wrapping up her arm. "We still have men out there. We get them to cover and perform some recon. When more units arrive, we'll be in better shape to implement a plan. It'll be nightfall by then and we still have the advantage of the life signs detectors."

"Am I the only sane one?" Rodney rolled his eyes. "Forget I asked. They have access to powerful stun bombs and can obviously manipulate our equipment. Or do I need to remind you of the sudden population growth of the bad guys?"

"If they had LSDs, they'd be using them." Ronon twirled his blaster. "And if there were more men, they'd be hunting us."

The lingering silence ended all arguments and John replaced his clip and did an quick and dirty inventory of his ammo. "Let's get a look-see of their operation."

With the detector in capable hands, Rodney directed their every move with the precision of radar; the thundering noise of a truck or machine echoed in the distance as the edged closer.

"Um...I think there's a problem," Rodney hissed.

John held out his fist and they all kneeled. "Define this problem."

"Our guys. Their dots are moving."

"Maybe they're waking up," John suggested, hoping that was true.

"Not when the bad guy dots get really close to them and they all become a big fuzzy mess until reappearing in the enemy camp," Rodney growled, fingers crushed around the detector in anger and fear.

"Double time it," John breathed, funneling rage into steel control.

They moved in tandem, reaching the outer edge of the perimeter of the earlier ambush. Most of Lorne's team had been taken, but Jameson and his squad were still sprawled unconscious on the ground.

"I'll keep watch," Rodney announced, allowing the rest of them to take a body and drag it to safety.

John hefted up a lanky Marine by his vest, pulling him a hundred yards behind another cargo container. The man didn't even twitch. It'd be another half hour before any of them recovered from the stun and John wiped the sweat from his brow and convened with the rest of his team.

Ten minutes before back-up arrived. Could they wait it out?

"_Colonel Sheppard, I know you and your team are out there,"_ a distorted voice blasted out of a megaphone.

John grit his teeth, debating acknowledgment of the taunt and giving away their position.

"We may not have Ancient devices, but we do have heat sensors. We know where you are, Colonel."

Crap.

"_If you and your team do not drop your weapons and surrender in the next sixty seconds, we will begin executing the rest of your men. Starting now."_

They exchanged a mixture of expressions; Ronon's body practically vibrated.

"We'll go and try stalling," John told them.

"That's your plan?" Rodney demanded and gulped. "I mean, what's..."

"_Thirty seconds, Colonel."_

"We keep our people alive and Todd in sight until back-up arrives," John ordered.

He dropped his P-90, kept his .45 holster and stunner hidden. Pulled out their only flash bang and pulled the safety pin and squeezed the lever without releasing it. His team followed suit, shedding most of their weapons. "All right, we're surrendering!" he shouted.

"_Hands on your heads, Colonel."_

John gave his team a nod, and they obeyed without lacing their fingers because, you know, the bad guys hadn't asked them to. Ronon had at least two knives hidden in his hair, his blaster stuffed behind his back, and Teyla had a blade or two on her body.

They slowly marched the fifty meters between rail cars and toward a group of seven commandos who stood next to a forklift loaded with a large black steel box big enough for a certain Wraith to be imprisoned.

Off to the side was a pile of bodies, two more commandos pointing M16 rifles at their unconscious teammates. When they rounded the last orange storage box, ten more appeared from behind a large blind spot and spread out behind them in a semi-circle, half of them ghosting their every move with the stunners pilfered from Lorne and Jameson's men. Everyone wore the same black military fatigues and bulletproof vests, their faces obscured by smears of paint or caps to shadow any facial features.

John kept the lever to his flash bang compressed, eyes darting at each person's position and assessing the quickest routes for cover. He gave a cocky grin at the wannabe special forces group. "So, is one of you in charge or do you each take turns playing with the megaphone?"

A guy in his late forties with bushy salt and pepper sideburns and beard stepped forward from the pow-wow around the fork-lift and removed his tinted sunglasses with unneeded flare.

"Very dramatic," John commented.

The leader chuckled, stopping a few meters short, arms resting over the weapon clipped to his vest and gestured at John's side arm. "If I recall, Monsieur, I ordered for your surrender."

"Yes, you did. Isn't it usually the French who do the surrendering?"

Mr. Leader Guy removed his beret to rub at the perspiration beading under the rim, hair like an unkempt wolf spilling out, before he slipped his hat back on. "Your reputation proceeds you Colonel, hence the extra precautions we took once when we saw you at the train station." Pulling out a cigar, he bit off the tip, spitting it on the ground before lighting it. Releasing a puff of smoke, he stuffed his zippo back into a vest pocket. "I am sure you are biding for time. Waiting on some back-up, perhaps?"

John schooled his face without comment. Leader Guy waved a leather gloved hand in dismissal. "We have reinforcements arriving, too. I wonder, who will show up first? Should be fun game to see who wins, no?"

Teyla and Ronon waited for a signal, but Lorne's team was still under threat and way too many weapons pointed at him and his team. "You won't get away," he threatened lamely, hoping the rest was a bluff.

Chewing on his cigar, the man smiled calmly. "In three minutes all cell towers within five hundred miles will be down and will simultaneously cause a massive surge on all landlines as well. Communications will be strangled. Your choppers will no doubt be re-routed at the appearance of the first stage of a terror attack."

John whistled. "That's a big gamble."

"No bigger than our current mission, I assure you."

Rodney let out a laugh. "And you think it won't be difficult to track down a giant cargo ship? Those things are slower than...than giant sea turtles." At John's look Rodney held up his hands. "What? Sorry, if I'm not an expert on marine life."

"And who says our package will remain on any ship for long? The ocean is quite big, mon amie." He returned his attention to John with a grin and threw his stogie to the ground, crushing it with his boot. "Au revoir, my friends."

Lead Guy snapped his fingers and John tossed his flash bang at the same time. He closed his eyes and tackled the leader, momentary deafened by the loud blast. Using his fingers, John stripped away the rifle tethered to the man's vest and slammed the butt end into what he hoped was his face.

There were shouts and sounds of stunners. John scrambled away, opening his eyes to find the commandos by the forklift stumbling about and he opened fire in the midst of their disorientation, taking out the four wildly aiming their M16s.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw both Rodney and Teyla were down; three more bad guys lay unmoving next to them. Ronon was furious motion, tossing one knife, then another, taking out those guarding Lorne's team.

John shot at the two commandos who were trying to sneak up behind Ronon, then had to duck and roll when one of them aimed his way and tried emptying a clip into him.

"General!" someone shouted.

With a face splattered with blood from a busted nose, the general fired at John with his side arm. Bullets flew from everywhere and John ran for his life toward the forklift, his knee screaming at him with every pounding step. He skidded around the cab of the forklift and almost tripped over the injured bad guys sprawled on the ground. One of the commandos propped himself on his elbows and shakily aimed his Sig at him. John pulled out his stunner with his other hand and blasted the guy. Then he fired on the other two moaning from their wounds to keep from being shot in the back.

His heart fluttered at hummingbird speed and he peered around the cab and barely missed having his head blown off by heavy fire. Three commandos continued showering his position with their M16s and they were soon joined by a few of their pals.

Ronon countered, firing red bursts from behind an empty rust colored boxcar five meters way.  
John did a double take. Ronon had somehow made it to cover when he wasn't looking and they could see each other behind their new temporary line of defense.

The shooting stopped momentarily, but it was hard to listen for bag guys over a faint ringing in his ears. They were probably regrouping to plan their next move and he pulled out his LSD to confirm the dots were gathering into two distinct groups.

"John Sheppard." He cringed at that familiar voice, thinking maybe it would be better if his hearing was shot. John risked a look at the black steel container resting on the pallet. "Free me, Sheppard and I will help you," Todd's broken voice spoke through a slit in the top of the box.

"You've got to be kidding me!" John yelled at no one in particular.

It took a second to connect the dots; the boxcar with the open platform where Ronon was currently pinned down, was where the Wraith had been unloaded from. And all over the ground laid the remains of a wooden packing crate and an unattended crowbar. They'd probably unboxed their prize to check to see if the Wraith was still alive.

"You are outnumbered," Todd hissed weakly.

"Sorry, but I'm a little preoccupied right now!" Twelve to two wasn't that bad, John told himself.

The white dots were standing there, maybe going over their strategy and John signaled Ronon with the enemy's position and numbers. The reinforcements from Pendleton should have been here by now and he wondered if they'd been turned back. If the world outside was going crazy with paranoia and lost communications, leaving them all on their own.

"Release me and I will..." Todd's breathing hitched with a ragged cough. "I promise not to escape."

Todd sounded bad and there was no way John was going to allow a hungry, injured Wraith loose.

"I offer you one last chance to surrender. Put down your arms," the general yelled.

The dots were fanning out and John pulled out his .45 and stuffed it in the front of his pants. He chanced a look with Ronon, the two of them communicating silently.

"I'm done playing games, Colonel."

The threat ended with a loud echoing gunshot.

"You son of a bitch!" John yelled.

"You've sacrificed one of your men. And I will kill them one by one until you give up," the general snarled. "I might even save the woman for last."

Whoever these people were, they were going to kill them all regardless. John verified that his magazine was loaded with a full clip and held out his hand with three fingers, indicating a silent count. Ronon gave a curt nod and the two of them prepared to give it their all.

The dots were on the move, the good general anticipating John's go to Hell response.

One.

Two.

Three.

Hunkering behind the forklift, John poked out, his eyes widening at the grenades being thrown at the boxcar. "Ronon!" he yelled in warning.

Ronon was busy firing, then upon seeing the projectiles, ducked for cover.

Everything occurred in snatches of light and sound. There were fireballs and plumes of thick smoke and an endless popping sound all around him.

People were yelling and John realized he was screaming back, squeezing so hard, blood dripped between fingers and the trigger. Thought became reflex, his feet and hands moving, dodging.

Reacting. Disconnecting.

Bullets ricocheted off the forklift. Between his own pants for air and the buzzing chaos, there was this hissing snake sound. "_Free me, Sheppard. Release me from my cage." _His brain and hands tingled strangely. In the midst of the battlefield, heedless to the pinging of bullets off the metal around him, John rose as if in a dream, walked over to the boxcar door. Phantom fingers pulled a chunk of C4 from a vest pocket, shoved it in over the lock. "_That's it,"_ the voice coaxed, bringing goosebumps up all over John's skin. He hesitated inserting the detonator, but the snake hissed, "_Trust me."_ And John complied.

Out of the corner of his eye, orange flames burned and crackled around the boxcar and the world slammed back, leaving him breathless. Dazed, John ran toward Ronon, firing at anything that moved, his stolen M-16 clicking empty. Limping the rest of the way there when his leg refused to run, he dropped his useless weapon and yanked out his .45.

Ronon was motionless on the ground, the rest of the bad guys yelling at one another and closing in. John saw his friend's chest move and that was enough to refuel him.

He open fire at the first black clad asshole who launched himself around the car. It resulted in a deadly diversion and two commandos outflanked him from the other side. John spun around hard, and found himself facing the muzzle of a Sig. He saw the flash as the trigger was pulled, heard the report. His knee had taken all the punishment it could; it gave in and gave up on him too. Expecting to be dead, he instead now found himself crumpled to his one working knee on the asphalt, the bullet zinging through where his head had been a split second before. No time to really consider how close it had been, John took out the commando with two pulls of his .45.

But he couldn't pivot in time to eliminate the second guy. John thought he saw the man smile as he opened fire with his M16.

There was a muzzle flash followed by ear rattling noise. Then, Oh God, the pain. It was like being split in two. Drawing for breath was a sledgehammer to his chest, and all he could do was stare up at the night sky, one leg folded under him as the other one was engulfed in fire.

He couldn't move his fingers to grab his gun, the numbness in his extremities in stark contrast to the feeling of a dozen bowling balls slamming into his chest. Warm blood dripped down his arm, more pooled under him from...he had no idea from where.

All he knew was he couldn't breathe and the man who had shot him up was busy removing everything from his vest, talking to someone as if John was already dead. Though that probably wasn't too far off from the truth.

"Merde! Finally. Time to clean up this mess. Are you hurt?"

There was no mistaking that accent.

"Flesh wound. Was standing too close to a boxcar, got hit by one of my own bullets," came a reply with a different accent, this one more Eastern European.

"C'est bon. Go check on the others, get who's left all on their feet. When we're ready to move out, we'll kill the rest and finish what we started."

"My pleasure."

John blinked, his vision fading in and out.

"_Just push the button, Sheppard. Save your friends,"_ a voice whispered in his head.

Numb fingers reached inside his vest and clumsily pulled out the detonator.

A bushy face peered over him and cigar smoke was blown into his face. "You are a great adversary, Colonel. Any other time and you would be a bonus for my associates, but I am afraid your disappearance would not be worth the extra pressure. You are, what do they say? _A hot commodity." _

If he could, John would have chuckled, but he was having a hard enough time breathing. He settled for a,"Go to Hell."

The general tsked and pulled out his pistol, pressing the warm muzzle against John's forehead. "You first."

John squeezed the remote, setting off the explosion beside them.

The general stood abruptly up, his Sig dangling from his side. "What did you do?" he whispered.

"I'm not... sure," John coughed, the action sending jolts of agony throughout his body.

His breath seized through constricted lungs and he was so busy trying to ride out the pain, he hadn't noticed the general's absence until his boots were no longer in view. There was a familiar low growl, followed by panicked shouts and gunfire. He attempted sitting up and it was like a hot dagger to his side and he only made it an inch before slumping back down. Sweat broke across his brow and he tried to centering his focus, holding his breath and slowly releasing it.

Ear piercing screams caused his hair to stand on end and he redoubled his efforts to shift off his back. With his left leg trapped under him, he tried pushing off with his right boot heel, resulting in spasmodic jerks and the feeling of hundreds of nails digging into his limb. "Fuck!"

Panting, he tore a hole in his lip and fumbled for a weapon with more automatic fire and shouts of horror sounding closer. Had he dropped his stunner? He wouldn't have to worry about running out of bullets with that, but his fingers wouldn't cooperate and his hand flopped about his vest. Then he remembered all his weapons had been stripped away.

An eerie silence descended and he was forced to lay there with nothing but the stars staring back. "Ronon?" he called out.

His body shook harder now and a bone-chilling cold spread through his whole being. He didn't want to go out like this, with his team in danger and a bunch of assholes threatening his planet.

The crunching of dirt and rock signaled the approach of someone and John jerked as he fought to hang on to consciousness.

A figure loomed over him and John froze as Todd filled his vision with an amused smile. "It would appear as though our positions have been reversed, John Sheppard."

John's lips moved, but a strangled noise came out instead. Rage filled him to the core at his vulnerability and he tried forcing his elbows under him but failed miserably when the pain was too much.

"Do you feel helpless, Sheppard? Trapped by your failing body? Wondering what those more powerful plan to do with you?" Todd knelt beside him, fully healthy and in control. "What is it like? Knowing your only chance to survive depends on the one you least want to place such trust in?"

Todd bent closer, wisps of hair tickling his chin. John shuddered, fingers scraping the asphalt in frustration. "Y—you...you..."

"I manipulated you, yes. When your mind was distracted. But you should know, I would have never allowed myself to be hunted like an animal. I did not plan on escaping." Todd tilted his head, face pensive. "Are you giving up, John Sheppard?"

"N-nno," he gasped, his drooping eyes betraying him.

Hovering, Todd stared up at the far too distant stars. "Defiance is born from a fiery place within. Will you allow it to die away out _here?_ Or back where it belongs, with all of us in our rightful place?"

John wanted nothing better than to match his adversary's philosophical mutterings with a few choice words of his own, but Todd froze, his yellow eyes widening. "People are coming." The Wraith rose, leather wrist restraints swinging from a belt around his dark coveralls and he held his hands up. "I surrender."

"Freeze! Don't move!"

That sounded like Bates and John strained to get a look at him.

"Son of a bitch! Get away from him!"

And that was Jameson's voice.

"Which is it? Do you want me to freeze or do you want me to move?" Todd chuckled.

"Screw this!" Jameson barked, followed by the sounds of a stunner.

"Hold your fire!" Bates screamed, but there must have been six or seven shots.

"I wasn't about to risk the colonel's security," the angry corporal countered.

Everything was a blur from John's peripheral vision and he struggled to sit up, but Bates was next to him, hands gently holding him still. "Colonel, don't move."

"Status?" John grit out.

"Jameson and those mobile enough from his team have the area secured. Major Lorne is on his feet and he should be here any minute. We have a few minor injuries and one critical from the major's team."

That had to be man the general shot. John's head spun and he was losing the battle to keep the pain at bay. "W-what..."

"All the enemy are dead, sir. Casualties from the assault and a few from being fed upon. And Todd's... well he's out for the count." There were sounds of boots and gruff voices and Bates looked over his shoulder to shout something before returning into John's view. "Let's get you taken care of."

Bates unbuckled the straps on the sides of John's tac vest while yelling for assistance. John groaned when the heavy restriction was loosened around his chest and he closed his eyes, trying to control his panting.

"How bad is it?"

John recognized his XO's anxious voice.

"Not sure, Major, but I need another set of hands. Looks like he was shot in a right to left strafing motion. I'm checking for the source of the other bleeding, but his leg needs attention." Bates undid the rest of the straps and lifted the front part of the vest, pushing it over John's head to reveal his undershirt.

Lorne yanked out several dressings, peeling away the wrapper with his teeth. John craned his neck to gain eye contact and he stifled another groan. "Major...how's my..."

"Teyla and McKay were just coming to when I left and Ronon's being looked after. It doesn't seem serious, but he's still out." Lorne let out a low whistle. "You've got a few holes in you, sir. Sorry, but this is going to hurt."

John screamed when his leg was jostled, and he jackknifed, while hands and arms tried steadying his movements. His world was engulfed by fire and he drifted off, or passed out, because he came back to himself in tiny increments, strained voices talking over him.

"He needs to be evac'd, right the fuck now. How long before—"

"The unit from Pendleton is two minutes out."

"They better have a corpsman with them. He took one in the belly right below the vest and I couldn't find an exit wound."

Awareness was a heavy shroud with listless limbs and scattered thoughts and sounds while John reacquainted himself with his pal morphine.

"Oh my God! Is he...is he..."

"Give the colonel breathing room, McKay."

"Breathing room? Does he look like he's breathing to you, Major?"

"He is, and I'm going to make sure that's what the colonel keeps doing."

"By waiting for him to bleed to death? I mean...wasn't he wearing a vest? I bet it was defective. I read about the military and their definition of workable budget cuts."

"It kept him from getting ripped in half!"

"Oh, that's something, isn't it, Bates?"

"Rodney, please. This is not helping."

"But, Teyla..."

John fought his way through the haze, but the voices became frenzied.

"The chopper's here!"

"Rodney, we should make a path. We will follow behind and ride with John and Ronon."

_No! Don't!_ John wanted to scream, but he couldn't think, couldn't remember anything other than some imminent threat. Time warped and stretched like a rubber band and he panicked as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen.

"Colonel! Colonel Sheppard, just breathe."

John's eyes fluttered open to a plastic mask over his nose and mouth and the face of a stranger with almond-shaped eyes. He couldn't hear a damn thing over the roar of an engine and rotor blades that hadn't been there moments ago, and his body fought against being pinned in place.

The stranger peered over him, his words muffled, like through a tin can. "Colonel, I'm a corpsman, HMC Park. You're strapped to a backboard. You can't move. We're almost at Pendleton, where we're gonna get you fixed right up."

John's brain had other ideas and it blew all its circuit breakers. His heart sped up on rocket fuel, slamming against his breastbone while his lungs refused to inflate, causing him to gasp wildly.

"Oh, no you don't, Colonel. I hear the Air Force has big plans for you, I'm not going to let you miss them," the chief shouted in his ear.

"Sheppard! Stop showboating. I know you don't like listening to other people, but make an exception this time."

Honing onto the voice scolding him, John clung to it like a lifeline, seeking the familiar owner, locking onto desperate blue eyes.

'Please,' Rodney mouthed.

John tried offering reassurance, but an elephant decided to sit on his chest.

"Pendleton. We've got a Caucasian male, early forties with multiple GSW's to the shoulder, abdomen and leg. Pulse is tachy at 134, BP sixty-five over forty and falling. Request a red line straight to the ER when we land." The corpsman peered over him. "I'm giving you something to help with your respirations, Colonel. Stay with me."

A few seconds later, warm fingers slipped into John's hand and he desperately returned the grip, knowing it was Teyla. He was scared and while he couldn't vocalize his fear, she just knew. Teyla pointed in the other direction and John's eyes tracked her toward Ronon strapped to a gurney next him, whole and alive, and staring back.

The big guy pushed away one of the Marines helping the medic, his lips moving, his words lost by the squall of white noise.

It didn't matter, because John didn't need his ears to know he was being told to fight.


	5. Chapter 5

He stumbled in the darkness, boots skittering and tripping over the uneven ground. John flailed, arms wheeling for balance and he lurched forward ungracefully. Keep running; don't stop. His shirt was glued to his body with sweat, the underground cavern miserably hot, and he mopped his brow with the back of his hand. Panting for breath, he scanned the inky blackness for a way out, his heart banging out of his chest.

He longed for the familiar grip of his P-90, but his vest and weapons were missing, and if he stopped, they were bound to find him. His legs screamed with fatigue, threatening to buckle with each clumsy step. Despite the lactic acid burning up his muscles and the exhaustion leeching his strength, he wrung ever drop of stamina from his body to keep running. Dizzy and unable to recall his last meal, he stumbled right into a wall and fell on his ass.

Pressing his forehead to his knees, he caught his breath, burning eyes making out the large slab of earth in front of him. He blinked, suddenly realizing he was at an intersection, both directions swallowed up by darkness.

"Which way will you go, John Sheppard?" Todd slithered from seemingly out of nowhere and sat next to him, his eyes glinting with curiosity.

Licking cracked lips, John considered his options, finding both to be equally crappy. "I don't know."

"You are running out of time and then it will be too late."

But both corridors could've been one-way tickets to nowhere. He ran his fingers through his spiky damp hair. "Got any advice?"

The Wraith's teeth gleamed in the darkness, his face a ghoulish mask. "It is not up to me." The toothy grin faded. "You must hurry."

John used the rocky slab for support, standing on wobbly legs, resting the side of his face on the cool stone. He knew he was out of time, could feel it in his bones, churning in his gut. Pushing off the wall, he gazed up the steep incline to destinations unknown. With a laugh born of desperation, he found a few footholds with the toes of his boots, his fingertips gripping the tiny crevices, and started climbing.

"What are you doing?" Todd's voice reverberated.

"Don't...like...my choices," John huffed with exertion. "Gonna see where this takes me."

"You don't know where it goes."

No, John didn't, but going up had been _his_ choice.

* * *

John woke to a spinning tiled ceiling, slowly peeling open gritty eyes and slamming them shut when the dizziness became too much. He must've made a noise, because he flinched when someone touched his shoulder, the motion setting off an explosion of fireworks.

"I'm sorry, John."

Riding out the agony stole his breath, the edges of his vision blurring gray. Counting to ten, his body eased from its tight coil, and he slowly opened his eyes to the frightened face of his ex-wife.

"Hey," he croaked, unable to salivate enough to moisten his mouth.

"Hey," she echoed, hovering over him, reaching out for a pitcher. "You scared me." Pouring water into a plastic cup, she stuck in a striped bendy straw and held it to his lips.

He stared dumbly at it, realized his right arm was in a soft blue sling, and that his brain had forgotten how to make the left one move. Taking the plastic into his mouth, he allowed the cold water to coat his raw throat. The drops barely put a dent in his ravenous thirst before it was removed. Lying perfectly still, he waited for the room to stop spinning and gazed up at Nancy, who had aged years before his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned at the dark circles under her eyes and a rumpled blouse and pants that seemed slept in.

"Me?" Nancy flopped ungracefully into a plastic chair. "I'm sleep deprived, but... yeah. I'm fine. It's you...I mean, God, John." Rubbing vigorously at the corners of her eyes, she curled her fingers around the rail. "I really should get one of the doctors. Tell them you're awake and lucid."

"Wait. Just..." It was hard focusing when there were two of her and he dug a trembling palm into his temple. "Damn. How many drugs am I on?"

"A lot."

Her frank answer only unsettled him more. The last day or two were hazy at best, his chest constricting when pieces collided into a giant jigsaw. "Is everyone alright? What happened to Todd?"

Equipment started beeping incessantly and Nancy bent over him. "Hey, it's okay. The Wraith is in custody and your team is safe. Ronon was released the other night and Lieutenant Harper is recovering from his injuries."

Her words soothed the panicked urgency that had set all his nerves on edge and John allowed the news to alleviate his hypervigilance. "Ronon was released _the other night?_ How long..." He took a drag on his nasal cannula, wincing at how it hurt his nostrils. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days," she sighed. "You've been heavily medicated since surgery."

That would explain why he felt like a reheated dinner that had been tossed out a car window and run over. "Where are we?"

"In the Navy hospital at Pendleton. When you're stable enough you'll be transferred to Cheyenne."

Talking drained him, the seriousness of the situation a heavy weight to bear, his memories of the events like faded photographs. "My knee gave out," he blurted. "Would've been dead if it hadn't."

"Then I'll thank Ronon for not holding back when you two worked out last week." Nancy rose to her feet, her face haggard from lack of sleep, but slightly more composed. "I really should let the staff know you're awake."

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong with me?" John was having difficulty staying awake and didn't want to wait to find out when he woke up again. "I'd rather hear it from you."

Nancy tapped the railing with her fingernails. "You're hurt pretty bad, John. If it wasn't for your vest..." She trailed off, then her posture got straighter, her tone even as if reading a daily briefing. "You were shot in your right shoulder and some of your ribs are cracked; I don't recall how many." Her eyes lingered on all the wires and tubes and her voice faltered. "You lost a lot of blood and they said your liver was lacerated."

John was a soldier in the field, shutting off the valve to his emotions, but he wasn't occupied by fighting now. "But I'm going to be okay?" Damn his voice for drying out.

Nancy grabbed his wrist, careful of the IV. "I'm so sorry. Yes, they repaired all the damage. You're going to be okay. _Eventually._ It's just been...it's been a rough couple of days."

John released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and she gave his bicep a squeeze. "It'll be a long, hard road, John. Major Lorne's preliminary report said bullet ricochets struck your left leg. The surgical team were worried your femur was broken."

His eyes grew large. _His surgical team?_ He had needed more than one doc. "But, it's not?"

"No, but a bullet cracked your fibula. So, you have a cast and lots of PT ahead, but no setting off airport metal detectors," she said with a small wry smile.

It was overwhelming. His head pounded and he felt gritty and the need of a shower. His right shoulder was wrapped with large bandages all around and bound tightly, his sling preventing any range of motion. His leg was numb and heavy as if encased in a vat of cement all the way to his groin. It was probably a good thing he couldn't feel a damn thing.

A few days before, his biggest worry had been choosing the next path in his career. Now a moot point when he was such a mess physically. Thank goodness for all the narcotics coursing through his veins.

He turned his head, the only part of his body that felt connected. "Thanks for being here."

"It was my turn." Nancy sighed at his furrowed brow. "When I flew in I got added to the rotation. Each member of your team has sat with you since you were wheeled out of surgery. And when it wasn't your team, it was Major Lorne, or a member of the strike force."

He blamed the drugs for the way that made him feel.

"You should see all the notes and e-mails sent from everyone at the SGC." Nancy reached for her purse and pulled out a small stuffed bear in Marine fatigues." I found this little guy especially cute. I had the rest of your well wishes bundled up in a box at the nurse's station."

John wasn't sure what to think about all that. He lacked the energy to question the validity of so many notes written without being under duress and his eyes fluttered closed.

* * *

The problem with the really good drugs was, when you asked your doctor to be weaned off them, you missed their sweet 'I'm on cloud nine' effects. Not being constantly dizzy or nauseous was great, but his pain threshold was being sorely tested, making him almost reconsider the request. But, it was the price he was willing to pay to hold a coherent conversation for more than ten minutes.

Richard Woolsey stood at the foot of his bed in an expensive charcoal suit, despite the vacant chair next to the bed.

"I know we have had several discussions about this, but before you make a formal request, I thought we should analyze it further."

For a bureaucrat, Woolsey had the posture of a soldier and John waited for his shoulders to lose some of their tension before cutting to the chase. "I think while Todd is on Earth and in our custody, we should try to..." he worked his jaw. "To work with him more."

"Working as in _together,_" Woolsey repeated, clearing his throat and raising his eyebrows.

John shifted further up in the bed, an athletic feat considering one of his legs was immobile and his right arm was trapped. Wiggling around set off mini tsunamis of pain and he fisted his blanket and tried breathing like Teyla had taught him when his whole body seized up. "Not like on a project, or anything. More like we should treat him like a-"

"Guest?"

"No!" John snapped.

Woolsey eyed his pain dispensing machine like he might press the button for him, but John got control of himself. "I'm just saying... if we're stuck with him for the duration, maybe we should try a less hostile approach. Create an atmosphere of mutual cooperation."

Woolsey finally took the damn chair, fidgeting uncomfortably. "You're suggesting giving him more freedom."

"No. I mean, yes. Kind of." This wasn't going the way he had rehearsed. He braced his ribs to take a deeper breath. "I think we can attract more with honey. We keep him locked up, under the same amount of security, but we give him something to do. A focus other than being a prisoner." He could tell the topic was a political hornet's nest so he went for a more reasoned track. "Todd could have escaped. He had the opportunity."

"Yes, according to your report, this is what he told you. He also manipulated you with his mental abilities," Woolsey reminded him.

"And if he hadn't, there would have been a lot more dead bodies at the shipyard," John countered, not admitting his true feelings about that matter. "They stunned him and kept him unconscious most of the time. And when awake long enough to think, he turned on his own Wraith signal for us to follow." He grit his teeth as his body tensed. "He used it for us to find him, knowing if he got discovered that those holding him would be forced to cut it out of him. The transmitter is part of him. Removing it could've killed him."

"Someone has leaked the preliminary report to you." Woolsey raised an eyebrow as John sunk back into bed. But Woolsey had been moved by the argument, his face contemplative. "Todd had that tracker installed as a safeguard against _us_ removing it because he knew, we have always been at his mercy for something and would never risk killing him." Sighing, Woolsey wiped at his glasses with a handkerchief and put them back on. "Regardless. Todd has been a constant topic of discussion. Especially given the unknown status of Atlantis. But there have been other voices echoing yours. Since you are considered a foremost expert on the Wraith threat, and given your military status, your proposal will carry a lot of weight."

It was relief Woolsey wasn't going to argue the matter more; John wasn't sure if he was up for a lengthy debate. He was hurting, stiff, and had to fight the urge to fall asleep. Yet, the nursing staff wanted him to get up and move around later today. They were sadists, all of them.

"Colonel?"

John shook his head, realizing he had drifted off. "Yeah, I'm awake."

"I'm sorry." Woolsey shifted in his chair, his features softening "I um... read you physician's report regarding your recovery. Six to ten weeks leaves a lot of gray area. And with the ceremony just a couple weeks away... I hate bringing this up, but I wondered if we should consider postponing it."

"No. I just want to get it over with."

Clearly John's hasty reply took Woolsey aback. "Colonel. _John. _I know you're uncomfortable with the prospect of the spotlight, but the event is going to take place and it involves a lot of important people with complicated schedules. I..." Again, Woolsey paused, considering his words. "You like to shoot from the hip. We're talking about the highest-ranking military officers and politicians despite the non-public venue. No one wants to force you into something when you're not able to-"

"I'll be fine," John interrupted, sick of the whole matter. "I want...I _need_ it be over with."

Any further discussion ended when Ronon entered the room and spotted someone who wasn't a staff member or part of the military. He crossed his arms across his chest and just _stood there._ It didn't matter that Woolsey wasn't just any stuffed suit, but the big guy took anyone not there to help John get better as an obstacle to intimidate.

"I have meeting to attend to," their former boss said as an excuse. He cast a final appraising look at John. "I hear you're being transferred very soon. It'll be good to have you home."

John noticed the tightness around Ronon's jaw at those parting words and the two of them shared a silent understanding.

Earth wasn't home.

And the fight to return to where they all belonged was going to be longer and harder than John's struggle to get back on his feet.

* * *

He was pretty sure that the occupancy level of his room didn't allow the number of people crowding around him. Teyla and Ronon stood out of the way in the far corner, Rodney paced back and forth on his cell phone, reading one of his minions the riot act about something. He'd received no less than half a dozen searing glares from the staff for the offending item, but it went on unnoticed. Granted, John wasn't in the ICU anymore, but he'd broken the bank on charity for his laptop and unprecedented number of visitors outside the proper hours.

The nurses finished disconnecting leads and wires from around his bed, although his IV and other tubing were still in place. "I can go in a wheelchair," he offered again.

"It's easier this way, Colonel," one of them replied. John gave the hulking six four giant his best glare, but the guy snorted. "I've had every SEAL, Ranger, and even an Admiral give me that same look. It doesn't work on me. You're staying in your nice comfy bed, so just enjoy the lift to your next care facility."

It wasn't often that John sulked, but he was over being a patient already.

"It will be nice for you to be in more familiar surroundings," Teyla soothed when his room emptied out of most of the staff.

If one called the SGC infirmary more familiar. No sooner had John been stepped down to a normal room from the ICU, then the request had been made for him to be flown to Colorado. His physician had been less than enthused, but signed on the dotted line. He'd been given an injection to help deal with the bumpy ride and all his annoyance was fading to a soft muted buzz.

Rodney was a blur of energy, slapping his cell off and bouncing on his heels. "Are we leaving yet?"

"We are waiting for the orderlies to wheel John to the landing pad," Teyla explained calmly.

"Can't we do that ourselves?" Rodney's eyes bounced from the gurney to the hall.

"Why are you so hot to leave?" Ronon grumbled.

Rodney chortled. "Seriously. _Hot to leave?_ You've been watching too much TV." Quickly walking to stand next to Teyla, he matched Ronon's stare. "I'm tired of conference calls and stupid virtual meetings. Just in case you forgot, we had a catastrophic breach of security and, of course, people are looking to me for answers."

"And do you have any?" Ronon challenged.

"Well, no, but I can't do much good from here, now can I?"

"McKay's right," John interrupted their bickering. "We need to figure out who was involved and..." his train of thought drifted gently off its track. "I...think I forgot what I was saying."

He was pretty sure Ronon snorted in amusement.

"There will be plenty of time to investigate what occurred, but we are not at the SGC right now." Teyla stood over John and unnecessarily began pulling up his blankets. "We are waiting for the pilot to get ready. There is no rush." Once the linens had been rearranged, she peered down at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Right now? Never better," he smiled sloppily.

"At least someone is going to enjoy the ride," Rodney huffed.

Teyla shot him a look, but John said nothing. They all knew McKay had done his share of sneaking into his room 'after hours,' talking to him or offering reassurances that everything was fine when John had been lost between paranoid, drug laden layers of reality.

Two orderlies finally arrived and started wheeling him toward the landing pad, Rodney snapping at them anytime the gurney jostled too much or took a corner too fast. "Hey, VIP here. Do you want to get busted down to counting inventory or scrubbing toilets? Although how any of that is worse than bedpans is beyond me."

Despite feeling sorry for them, Rodney's belittlement of the hospital staff on his behalf made John grin. By the time they were loaded inside the chopper and began taking off, he fell asleep to the familiarity of being airborne.

No sooner had the medical staff gotten him settled in the back of the infirmary, had Nelson, John's aide, shown up with a cardboard box of stuff. "I have your laptop with a collection of movies already loaded and, of course, your music from your Ipod." The kid proceeded to set his computer on a small table and rolled it closer to the bed. Then he pulled out a small stack of books, a yellow notepad and pen, and finally a green leafy potted plant. Nelson smiled after arranging them in what had to be some manner of _feng shui. _"This will add some color and oxygen."

"Hello, it's a hospital," Rodney snapped. "They have oxygen."

With a nervous sidestep, the petty officer almost collided into Ronon, but with an amazing feat of footwork dodged and weaved out of the way. It impressed the big guy enough that he just glared while Teyla suppressed a giggle. Recovering, Nelson pulled out a Blackberry and turned toward John. "There have been a number of requests to see you, sir, but seeing as you've just arrived, I turned them all down on your behalf."

John was at a loss for words and gave a simple 'um thanks.' Looking around at his living arrangements, he attempted to sit up higher and failed miserably. His leg throbbed from his ankle to his hip, matching the growing stabbing sensation in his side. The remote for his bed was curled around the right railing and when he reached for it, he cursed, forgetting about his injured, immobile shoulder.

"I'll get that for you, sir," Nelson said, reaching for it.

Rodney snagged the remote and pointed at the curtain divider. "Alright, Radar, time to go."

"But, I need to-

"Gentlemen." Keller pulled back the fabric barrier. "Do I need to remind everyone where we are?"

Rodney and Nelson both had the good sense to shuffle their feet and act admonished. Ronon took that moment to stand next to the petty officer, thus towering over him. The kid squared his shoulders, but knew when to retreat. "If you need anything, sir, just IM me."

Rubbing at his temples, John sighed after Nelson made his exit. "Leave my aide alone, McKay. He knows what I like for dinner."

"Yeah, because not just anyone can order take-out," Rodney grumbled.

"Last I checked, there were no fast-food places around here that delivered," Keller reminded him, hiding a mischievous grin when Rodney folded his arms in a huff. Pulling out a PDA, her expression turned professional. "As you know, Dr Lam is the CMO here, but I've been granted privileges to be your acting physician, Colonel, since I've been your primary caregiver the last two years."

"Sounds great," John said with all sincerity about dealing with a friendly face for once.

"Yeah, well. If you don't mind." She glanced at his team. "I'd like to perform my own examination."

"We'll return later, John." Teyla smiled and led the way out, Ronon and Rodney shuffling after her.

"Expecting problems?"

Keller quirked an eyebrow. "With you? Let's just say, I want to be well prepared." Rolling down the blanket, and pushing up his gown, she exposed the incision across his abdomen. "You gave Dr Reshmi fits with the recent scar tissue near the site of your injury."

Morbidly curious, he stole a look at the grotesque line of stitching. "What did Indy say about age and road miles?"

"It's been a while since I've seen _Raiders,_ Colonel." Keller rubbed her fingers to make them warm before palpating the area. "You ready?"

A little poking and prodding was a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things. "Sure thing, Doc."

* * *

The world wasn't put on hold because John couldn't take part in daily activities. The military was an efficient machine; when it lost a cog, it found a way to function without it. Lorne completed the inspection of the 302's, and along with Captain Cutler, they had begun training pilots on Wraith dart engagements. Major Teldy had stepped up to help with paperwork while Lorne juggled a heavier involvement in prepping for the upcoming Senate hearings on the status of Atlantis.

Meanwhile, John dictated notes into a digital recorder and with the help of voice recognition software, it enabled him to be partially productive and contribute somewhat while the well-oiled machine chugged along around him.

"Why do you push yourself so hard?" Teyla asked him during her morning visit.

John didn't have the breath to answer, hissing and grunting as she took more of his weight. His left arm was hooked over her strong shoulders as she helped him across the room in a walking cast. Since his right shoulder couldn't tolerate any weight or movement, crutches were out of the question, but he needed to get out of bed for brief periods of time. He slumped in a chair, nearly toppling over when the rest of his body became unbalanced. Righting himself, he trembled with fatigue, each strenuous draw of oxygen aggravating his ribs.

Teyla took a seat opposite him on the bed, folding her hands. "Would you like something to drink?"

"I'll get it," he rasped, reaching for the pitcher, stopping when she pinned him with the same incredulous expression reserved for small children. The water sat inches beyond his grasp and required him to stand, which would more than likely result in him flat on his face. "Do you think you could pass that to me?"

"All you have to do is ask. And that applies to more than pouring you a glass of water." Teyla filled the cup and walked over. "Strength is found from the helping hands of others, but you must accept them."

"I know." He really did, but he felt like the little Dutch boy trying to plug the holes of a leaking dam.

"When my people were missing, I felt helpless. Lost. I thought it was my battle to bear alone." Teyla took away the cup and crouched in front of him. "I was wrong, John. "

He was in the midst of a free fall, unsure how far down it was until he hit the bottom. But he trusted Teyla, trusted her when he could few else. "I don't know where I'm headed," he admitted.

The future had always been an unknown, he'd never minded; growing up he learned that those who planned ahead set themselves up for disappointment. It was easier to leave things up to chance, like the flip of a coin. But this was the first time he was truly terrified by not having a set course.

"When I was a little girl, I woke up every morning, glad that I had slept through the night and was able to greet the sunrise. When I became leader of my people, I had to find the fortitude to carry on day after day, not knowing if the next sunrise would bring the Wraith. But I was able to face that fear because I was not alone." Taking his free hand with both of hers, she rubbed the tops of his knuckles with her thumbs. "I drew strength from family and friends. You will do the same."

Despite how crappy he felt, the corners of his mouth curved. "Thank you for the reminder." And to prove that he meant it, he waved at his bed. "Um, do you think you could help me? You know?"

Rising to her feet, she squeezed his hand. "Of course. I would be glad to assist you."

* * *

Dreams were supposed to be the link to the conscious and unconscious, kind of an inept messenger. John imagined being stuck on an island with miles and miles of black ocean, hand clutching a map to freedom. Except when he unrolled the piece of paper, it was his military walking papers. Waking up left him slightly breathless before he could push the dream far away with the rest of his nightmares.

John knew Ronon had been in the room with him, but he couldn't recall for how long. "Are you going to leave Earth?" he mumbled, still reeling from the strange imagery.

"Yeah," Ronon answered like it was no big deal.

John figured as much; it was hard to stay put when you didn't fit in. He knew all about escaping, never settling down anywhere long enough to get comfortable. "I understand."

"Sheppard." When John didn't answer, Ronon leaned over him. "I'm not going without you. When Atlantis returns, we're _all_ leaving. Together."

John licked chapped lips and rubbed a trembling hand over his brow. "Right, yeah. I knew that's what you meant."

Ronon fidgeted and John stared at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than to shed out of his skin and leave it behind like a snake. Sweat beaded across his forehead and he barely had the strength to wipe it away. All his bones ached, all the way down his spine. "What's wrong with me?"

Ronon slumped in his chair, adjusting his long limbs. "You're sick."

"Thought I was getting better?"

"You do things the hard way."

The curtain swooshed aside and Keller strode in. "How are you doing, Colonel?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should tell me."

Keller shared a glance with Ronon who shrugged and she plastered on a smile. "An infection originating in one of the wounds on your thigh caused you to spike a nasty fever last night, but we're keeping it under control. Does any of this sound familiar?"

"No," and John didn't mention how unnerving that was.

"Every time he falls asleep, I have to repeat myself," Ronon added.

"That's understandable with temps over 103," Keller remarked. "It's not uncommon for an infection to develop near the incision site a week or more after surgery. Your body is fighting multiple traumas and your immune system is having trouble keeping up." She pulled out a syringe from her lab coat and injected the contents into his IV. "I gave you a slight sedative. We'll allow it a few minutes to take effect before we debride the wound again."

"That sounds pleasant," he rasped, not keen on the idea of alcohol, disinfectant or whatever they used to be poured into his hot aching leg.

"Hopefully, you won't be very aware of it." Keller studied the monitors over his bed. "Cellulitis isn't a lot of fun, but I think after a few more days, we'll have you back on the mend."

A warm syrupy feeling drained away all his tension, leaving behind limbs of taffy and a brain of mush. Everything became a muted, distant echo. Ronon still sat there, his breathing a comforting blanket.

"I was offered a command," John muttered with rubbery lips. "A ship. Like in Star Trek."

"Cool."

"Was gonna take you with me...if I took it. And Rodney. Teyla." John pictured the helm overseeing a sea of swirling stars. "We were gonna hunt Wraith," he slurred.

"I could get behind that."

His liquid smile flattened into a line. "Wouldn't work though. Don't think Rodney would go. And...you know...ship's no place for raising a kid."

"Sheppard." A firm hand gripped his shoulder. "Hey."

Forcing his lids open, John stared up at Ronon's hovering face. "Yeah?"

"Stop thinking so much."

John laughed at the simplicity of the advice, realizing the genius behind it.

* * *

Who knew the havoc an infection could create, chopping down whole forests of time in the blink of an eye and leaving him wrung out. Technically, he was out of the woods, his liver function back to normal, the fever gone. His leg however looked like a mangled hunk of roadkill. His walking cast ended above his knee and rows of stitches crisscrossed his thigh, the skin various shades of pink.

John sat upright in bed since getting up to move into a chair was too much of a chore. He reminded himself he was lucky to be alive. According to the investigation at the cargo depot, his vest had stopped nearly twenty bullets and only the exposed areas of his body got the brunt of the punishment. Scanning the report for a third time gleaned few results about the bad guys. Most of the dead'd had their fingerprints burned off and the French General's corpse was beyond identification thanks to being fed on.

"Have you tried osmosis?" Rodney wandered in, setting down his _$ is the square root of evil_ mug next to John's laptop. "I hear that's the new rage when faced with a problem that has no chance of being solved with the data at hand."

"Hello to you too, McKay," John groused, laying the papers down on his lap. "But since you asked, no, I haven't. What about the first patrol that went after us when we arrived? We used non-lethal force with them."

"Lee found a way to resurrect the grooves of their epidermis, thus providing us with fingerprints." Taking a sip of his coffee, Rodney wrinkled his nose. "I knew my minions brewed it too weak."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What happened when Lee ran the prints?"

Shrugging, Rodney gave the empty plastic chair a look, but remained standing. "Nothing. We have the names of a few low-ranking grunts washed out or discharged from various countries' militaries. You know, your typical adrenaline junkies searching for a Rambo fix and a large paycheck."

John blew out an irritated breath and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "They're still not talking?"

"A few starting singing like canaries, but," Rodney held out a finger. "They don't know anything useful."

"Like how a shadow group managed to break into one of the most secure places on Earth and break out a Wraith under everyone's noses." Or why. What were they going to do with Todd? It was a nightmare. All personnel would need to be re-vetted and put under a microscope and a complete overhaul done to base security. For once, he was glad that was someone else's job. Landry must be having kittens. "Have offworld operations resumed?"

"Why, do you plan on taking a field trip?"

"Yeah, just me and my wheelchair," John snarked back. With a loud sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Just wondering if the stargate has been deemed secured."

"They are and it is. Satellites have also been restored. I've been tracing Kavanaugh's hacks and figured out he cut power and communications briefly near the holding area long enough for whoever to snatch Todd. It was simple, to be honest. He only took out communications and camera feeds for sixty seconds on each level, presumably while Todd was being transported outside. How they got inside the Mountain in the first place and how they got Todd out once they were on the grounds is anyone's guess."

"Great," John muttered.

"Hey, you should be happy." Rodney bounced on his toes and heels, hands clasped behind his back. "I hear you're being sprung by the weekend."

"Two days and counting," John answered. Then weeks of mandatory rest and grueling PT, but he didn't bitch about that out loud. He watched Rodney look nervously about and overheard voices outside his curtain. "Something going on?"

With a glance over his shoulder, Rodney flapped his hand. "Yeah, speaking of off world teams, one of them ran into a...um...a flock of flying monkey things that enjoyed flinging mud. At least I hope it was mud… Anyway, it isn't a pretty sight."

"O-kay." John watched multiple shadows move around and overheard a few curses. Post-mission check-ups were conducted much further away and with previous breaches of security he couldn't stow his paranoia. "Maybe you should see what's going on."

Rodney stepped in front of him, blocking his view. "Told you, another screwball encounter with non friendly primitive life forms."

Call it a hunch, but there was too much commotion going on for his taste. He heard a few choice curses and low throaty commands out of earshot. John pulled aside his blankets, eying the IV next.

"What are you doing? Are you nuts? Wait, don't answer that," Rodney was on him, pulling the sheets back up. "You're supposed to be on complete bed rest. No overdoing things, like I don't know. Walking around."

"Then bring over the wheelchair."

"Don't growl at me," Rodney snapped. "I'm not your aide, and I meant it about the whole not overdoing it. You have a very big day next week. Like the biggest day of your life complete with three-ring circus and-"

"McKay!" John interrupted. "I don't want a huge ruckus made about it."

Rodney stared at John like he'd just proposed that Newton's' Third Law was incorrect. "But it _is_ a big deal. I'm not in the military and even I know all about the relevance and prestige of it."

"I know. Perhaps a little too much." Words failed John at the enormity of it all. The history and sacred honor he wasn't sure he deserved to be a part of. Not with all the mistakes and death on his shoulders.

"John," Rodney said, his voice serious, eyes drilling into him. "Forget all those doubts and what-ifs floating around that coconut you call a brain and listen to me. You deserve it. Hell, you deserve it for a lot of other things."

John's throat got suddenly dry and he swiftly looked away.

Lorne popped his head around the curtain, saving them both from further embarrassment. "Hey, McKay. We're ready."

"Oh, thank God," Rodney exclaimed. "I am not good with improv, you know." Before he turned around, he gave John a half smile then launched into a tirade of complaints.

The tension breaker was a relief and John sat back as Rodney disappeared and returned with Lorne by his side. "Alright, let's get this show on the road, chop-chop."

Lorne rolled his eyes while moving the wheelchair closer and activating the brake. "Do you need some help, sir?"

"No, I..." John allowed Teyla's words from days before to wash over him. Getting out of bed was a challenge he hadn't mastered alone without a lot of pain and swearing. "On second thought, yeah. If you don't mind."

Lorne helped in silence, taking John's weight with a shoulder, supporting him while he wrangled his bad leg out of bed and sucked in a breath when his side and shoulder pinched healing flesh and muscle. He was literally shaking once he was settled in the chair, hugging his chest and arm.

Maybe Woolsey had been right about postponing the ceremony, which was, jeeesh. Next week already.

"Where am I going?" he asked as a way of distraction.

"Just a little field trip," Lorne answered, dodging the question while attaching the saline bag to the pole.

Rodney followed alongside him and John quirked a suspicious eyebrow when he saw them headed for the isolation room. "_McKay. _You sure there's something you're not telling me?"

"Don't get your boxers in a bunch. This was a compromise. The quacks didn't want you to be out of stabbing range of their syringes and we needed the space."

Rodney punched a code into the keypad and the door slid open to the aroma of barbeque and an enthusiastic announcer's voice booming from a very large plasma television. John was stunned as Lorne wheeled him into the center of the party. The room was filled with sofas and chairs and a lot of enthusiastic soldiers and civilians he recognized. He spotted Ronon and Teyla chatting with Sergeant Jameson and members of the strike force were hanging out by a table with a punch bowl. Major Davis of all people was by the grill, flipping burgers, wearing a t-shirt and jeans with a ridiculous chef's hat.

"I don't understand," John finally managed.

"Seriously? I mean it's not the World Cup, but you don't recognize a Super Bowl party?" Rodney waved at various parts of the room. "Let's see, cooking out. Check. Alcohol, none for you by the way. Check. An overpriced 1080 progressive scan neo plasma display TV and surround sound. Check."

John sported a huge grin. "How did...I mean, this is really great."

"Yeah, well as much as I hate to admit it, this wasn't my idea. It was hers."

Following Rodney's finger, John spotted his ex wife another woman, both their backs to him. "This was Nancy's idea?"

Rodney chuckled. "Actually it was Dr. Sullivan's."

As if equipped with radar, both women turned their heads and with a little prodding on Nancy's part, Sullivan seemed to excuse herself and made her way over. "Hello."

"Hey, Doc," he stammered.

"I thought we agreed to use our first names?"

With a half smile he nodded. "Forgot. Things have been kind of crazy of late. I um, didn't recognize you with your hair down."

"Oh, yeah," she pointed at the long strands of hair that framed her face and came down to her shoulders. "You know, dress code regulations."

"Right." John suddenly felt very exposed. He'd been given a set of scrubs a few days before with one of the pant legs cut open to allow his cast, but compared to everyone else he was sitting in what he'd wear to bed.

"You know, I bet it's chilly in here for you. Maybe I could find you a robe," she said, turning to leave.

"Hey, wait." Sullivan stopped and John cleared his throat. "So, this whole thing was your idea?"

Her cheeks reddened and she gave him an embarrassed smile. "When I heard you'd be stuck in the infirmary during the big game, I thought you might want to watch it." Relaxing a little, she took a sip of beer. "But who wants to watch the Super Bowl alone? Then, one thing led to another. And voila."

Taking in all the excitement around him, John allowed the energy to lift his spirits. "I think a party would do a lot of good for everyone." He gave her a cocky grin. "Not bad for a..." She shot him a daring look and John laughed. "Not badly planned for a linguistics hotshot."

"Hey, I was embedded in Iraq for two years. I know my way around an op." Her face sobered for a moment and she lowered her voice. "In fact, that's the reason why I was medically discharged from Naval Intelligence. It was an IED… I was riding with a team to meet up with a CIA informant."

"I'm sorry to hear that," John apologized, feeling guilty for all the lame Navy jokes.

"Nothing to be sorry for. I had a job to do and I did it well. I'd go right back out there if they allowed me to." Sullivan's eyes gleamed. "Just like I know you're going to get right back on that horse. I might hate all the working out I have to do, but it's a small price to pay to keep my strength. I might not be on the front lines in Iraq, but I've got a new effort to fight for."

"And we're glad to have you." There was a momentary lull of silence, but she was smiling gratefully at him. John cleared his throat, eyes checking out her red and white t-shirt. "Rooting for the Cardinals, huh?"

"Kurt Warner all the way," she declared.

"What happened to the Ravens? Or do you just like teams with bird mascots?"

"No, I'm a fan of teams with winning records. Baltimore made it to the wild card, but the Colts won out. And who knows... maybe I'm a fan of things that fly."

His cheeks glowed hot. "Well, I haven't seen the Steelers in a while, but if they still have a running game, I don't think Arizona stands a chance."

"Are you a betting man?" she teased.

"Sometimes a little too much," he admitted ruefully.

"You know what they say about gambling?"

"It's the root of all evil?" John offered.

"You'll always miss 100% of the shots you don't take."

John cocked his head. "Chinese proverb?"

"Wayne Gretzky," she winked.

"Point taken," he admitted with a chuckle, his thoughts drifting on his past choices. "But maybe it's a sign of reckless desperation."

Locking onto his gaze, she bent down to his eye level. "I dunno. I think people who take great risks have a lot of hope."

John didn't have a witty reply, taken aback by the sheer sincerity of her answer.

"I think your friends want to talk to you," Sullivan said smoothly, indicating Teyla who was waving them over. "I'm going to see about that robe."

He was still a bit dumbfounded, her words turning his worldview upside down. Realizing that he was simply sitting there with a befuddled expression on his face, he started to wheel toward his friends when he realized there was no way he could do it on his own. Suddenly, the room moved on its own accord and he craned his neck around to see Rodney had taken on the task.

"Thanks, McKay."

"Did you really think I'd leave you stranded without a paddle?"

"Depends. Are there any whales chasing us?"

"Keep it up. I'll just wheel you right into a broom closet."

John was grinning ear to ear when they reached the blue plush sofa both his other friends were lazing around on. Teyla stood and hugged his neck. Ronon clapped him on his good shoulder.

Rodney fiddled and cursed, trying to engage the parking brake. "For the love of God. I'm the architect of the gate bridge, but I can't get this rusty bucket of bolts to work."

The fiddling and adjusting sent vibrations through the wheelchair and John gripped the armrest tightly. "Cut it out, McKay."

"Fine, it's not like you're on a hill or anything." Rodney leaned on the back of one of the sofas. "Why Lam doesn't keep a motorized version is anyone's guess."

"Golf carts," John grinned. "Dave and I used to soup up Dad's golf carts. Got 'em to forty miles an hour. With all the geeks around here, I bet they could outfit them to go at some cool speeds."

"Oh, no. Don't look at me. I'm not going to jerry-rig or pimp out any ride for you," Rodney protested when John sent him his most charming expression.

As if anticipating a round of verbal barbs, Teyla interrupted things before anything could get started. "So, this Super Bowl is the championship round of contests?"

"Yep, the accumulation of a whole season of wits, strategy and grid iron hits," John beamed, glancing at the highlight reel leading up to the game.

"They play in pads. Can't be that challenging."

"Some of these guys hit each other at the same force as a head-on collision," he defended. Ronon stared at him and John realized he needed to stop with the Earth references. "It's like being pummeled by a bad assed Wraith."

Ronon hmphed indifferently, eying the grill. "Gonna grab some food."

"Save some for the rest of us."

Ronon gave Rodney the middle finger and John basked in the camaraderie, thinking tonight might not be bad at all. His eyes roamed the room, searching for his target, hoping Sullivan wasn't on some wild robe goose chase. He spotted Nancy chatting up Davis and was happy for her at fitting in so easily with a base of mixed units. And he even silenced a nagging voice about the irony of it all considering the seeds of their divorce.

All heads turned to the front of the room and John gave a quizzical look in that direction, curious when Teyla mumbled, "Oh, no."

Colonel Cameron Mitchell entered with Vala Mal Doran by his side, her cat eyes scouting out the party.

"I can not get caught up in another two hour conversion with Ms. Mal Doran, John." Teyla whispered. "I do not wish to know any more details about her..._adventures. _It is worse than the three-day negotiations with the _Fenbar._ And since Dr. Jackson is not here to distract her, I prefer not to be her gossip companion for the duration." Taking Rodney's arm, she tugged him close. "Escort me, please."

With a yelp at the pressure around his bicep, Rodney looked at him. "Um...I have to-"

"I'll be fine," John said, waving them away.

"I will return shortly," Teyla promised, forcing a smile when she and McKay whisked past two of the stars of SG-1.

Vala's eyes lit up when she spotted John and Mitchell wrapped an arm around her waist, dipping close to her ear and whispering. Whatever magical words he used, a gigantic smile radiated from her face and she made a beeline towards Ronon.

Watching her saunter toward the big guy was amusing and John was still laughing on the inside while Mitchell snagged a beer by the punch bowl and came over to greet him. "Looks like a great party, Sheppard. You sure know how to liven up the place."

"Well, you know, any excuse for everyone to blow off some steam."

Mitchell took a seat on the sofa, sprawling out across two seats. Wearing a black t-shirt and denim jeans, he appeared to be a man in need of a break and seizing a moment to laze around. "Yeah, after the last few weeks, a little R&R would be nice."

"Rough time?" John inquired. He still hadn't been privy to SG-1's secret mission.

"Like riding a bull bareback." Mitchell gazed absently at the party and seemed to come back to himself, his eyes widening and sitting up. "Man, I'm sorry. Here I am rambling on and you guys managed to upstage some of our antics in record time." With a quick visual assessment of John, he shook his head. "You know, Sheppard, ducking out of the line of fire has been proven to be a great evasive tactic."

John shrugged his good shoulder. "Maybe I needed reminding that I'm better in the air than the ground."

"You've been hanging with too many jarheads."

"Kind of hard not to. Being as we're inside a mountain." It was hard to be in the air while miles underground. A little man was tap dancing on his leg with iron shoes and John tried finding a more comfortable position in the confines of his chair. "Is Colonel Carter here?" he asked as a distraction.

"Yeah. After our mission debriefing with Landry, she stayed to go over the little security incident." Mitchell downed half his longneck with a few gulps. "Me, on the other hand. I'll read the report or settle for Teal'c's version which will be a helluva lot shorter."

"I bet Ronon will be glad to have him back as a sparring partner," John quipped, watching the big guy unsuccessfully pull himself away from Vala's attention. "You know, if your team is in need of some back-up-"

"I'm sure we could find a temporary place for him, although once the SERE brass get their claws into him, I might have a fight on my hands." Mitchell finished his beer and twirled the empty bottle. "Don't worry. I'll just keep his seat warm until you get your band back together."

John snorted in cynicism.

"Hey. You're going to bounce back from this. It's not gonna be fun, but you'll do it." Mitchell's voice dropped, his face inches from John's. "And I know a hell of a lot of people who'll be there every step of the way, whether you like it or not."

Maybe it was that gnawing ache in leg and side wearing away his bulletproof exterior, but John matched Mitchell's gravelly voice. "I trust my team to have my back. I'm not so sure about the SGC."

"You really have been burned, haven't you? Look. I don't know your whole story and we both know each other's files are filled with holes, but the one thing I can say, is that you have another team watching your six."

"My record has more than holes."

"I'm sure it has a few valleys, but it has some impressive mountains, too. And I think they overshadow everything else. Hell, have you see Sam's jacket? Or let's face it, O'Neill's?"

"No, but I have a pretty good idea."

"You have _no_ idea." Mitchell sported the biggest I _shit you not_ expression and he went from vehement to relaxed. "I know how you're feeling, Sheppard. I've been in your shoes. From that chair to that stage you'll be walking across next week. And you're scared to death."

John sat there, listening to his fears being spoken out loud.

"You don't want to discuss it, because once you start thinking about all those other guys and their sacrifices, there's no way ours can compare, right? That somehow having your name added will tarnish those honored." Mitchell eyes went from a distant spot in the room to John's. "That's crap. There's no measuring tool when it comes to sacrifice. Thinking in those terms is what's disrespectful."

His jaw in rigor, John sat back and listened.

Mitchell stood, his bearing relaxing. "It's hard to take it all in, but you will. And all us will be there behind you. Good men are hard to find; true leaders are born naturally. But now, it's time for another beer."

Like ships crossing in the night, John looked up in time to find Nancy standing next to him bearing a plate of food. "I thought you might be hungry. Medium rare, ketchup on the side," she winked.

"Thank you." He took the plate with his free hand, balancing it on his right knee.

With nothing in her hands, she looked a little lost.

"You're a bit overdressed don't you think," John mentioned, eying her gray business suit.

"Actually, I have a web conference to attend. And while no one would notice if I was wearing pajamas and bunny slippers, I felt it appropriate."

"Or you could be comfortable," John countered.

"To be truthful, I haven't had time to change." Checking her watch, she let out a sigh. "I really should go."

"It's Sunday night. Must be important."

"Actually, it's early Monday morning and before you ask, I can't discuss the matter. I'm sorry."

"Been there. Done that," he told her with a ghost of a smile.

"Enjoy the fun, John. You deserve it," she said with a pat to his shoulder before making her exit.

For a party, it sure felt like he'd been navigating a minefield. Shaking his head, John tore into his burger and almost swallowed it whole, it was that damn good. Nothing like real food.

Kick-off was minutes away and everyone vied for a good spot near the TV, grabbing plates loaded with burgers and hotdogs and snagging cold ones. Ronon ambled over with Vala in tow, the two of them standing awkwardly while the rest of the room reached a fever pitch at the start of the game.

"You are looking well, Colonel Sheppard," Vala purred, though her eyes were all on Ronon.

"Thanks." John had to admit she was a very attractive woman, but he took pity on his big friend. "I heard Dr. Jackson was looking for you. Something about not caring about the game."

Ronon all but forgotten, Vala released her possessive grip. "Really? He was asking for me?"

"Colonel Mitchell informed me," John lied with a game smile.

"Hmmm, maybe I should wait. I am in the company of two very fine men."

It was really flattering and John knew the advances were superficial. "True, but the guys that really play hard to get are those worth pursuing."

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Vala beamed. "You are a wise man, Colonel." Ruffling his hair, she set off on her search for Jackson and John hoped the guy understood the need for the ploy.

Ronon crossed his arms, watching the first running play on the giant plasma. "I like hockey. At least they use weapons."

"Don't let McKay hear you say that."

The big guy gave him a dirty look, but John didn't mind. This was the first time since their impromptu return that he felt just a little bit normal. It wasn't the game room on Atlantis with _his_ people, but more like a visit with an extended family. He glanced up at Mitchell as he rolled a chair close by and the member of SG-1 held a brief stare down with Ronon before being allowed to join them.

"Think Roethlisberger can handle things?" Mitchell wondered.

"Don't know. Last time I paid attention to Pittsburgh he was a rookie." John shared a knowing look with Mitchell, his gaze going to Ronon and realizing the disconnect was even further. That no matter how out of sorts John felt, it paled in comparison to his friends.

Earth was John's home world, not his home, but it was this vast unknown to parts of his team. As their CO—as their friend- it was his job to be make things easier.

"Looks like the coast is clear."

He'd been zoning out, his eyes on the television, his brain elsewhere. But he glanced up as Rodney and Teyla returned, completing the circle.

"I brewed you a strong tea, John. It will help soothe muscle aches while keeping you alert."

"Yeah, you wouldn't want to conk out in the middle of your own party."

"I wasn't falling asleep, McKay." But Rodney was smiling. Accepting the spicy brew from Teyla, he didn't complain when she took his empty plate away. John sniffed at the concoction. "Is this the same thing that had me wired for two days straight on PX3-MX7 while I saw dancing Aztecs?"

"No it is not, but it has helped relieve your stress before without 'putting you out' as you like to say."

The cup smelled of an odd mix of cinnamon, cloves and dead wet leaves. "Since I'm banned from the rest of the festivities, I'm sure this will hit the spot." Sipping the stout drink, he forced the first swallow down without coughing. "Tastes great."

"Are you sure that's been approved by Jennifer? Last thing we need is the local celebrity to keel over from a toxic reaction," Rodney demanded, waving his hand over his nose.

"You know that I would not allow such a thing to happen," Teyla graciously dismissed the argument. "Speaking of which, where's Jennifer?"

"Finishing rounds. She's dropping by during the second half." Rodney spied Ronon's loaded plate of grub and rubbed his hands together in glee. "And now that I'm done helping people make daring escapes, it's time to eat."

The room erupted in cheers and boos and John watched a replay of a beautiful forty-yard Arizona pass.

"Told you. Kurt Warner all the way."

John grinned. "You have great timing."

Sullivan wandered over with a bundle of fabric. "Actually, I didn't mean to take this long, but I thought you might like this." She handed him an extra large Steelers' t-shirt along with a light blue robe. "I know you might not be able to change into it, but you could wave it around a lot."

"Do I want to know how you got this in the middle of a base?"

"Like I said. I know my way around special ops."

John grinned dumbly until he was gently elbowed. "Thank you. Um..." he risked a glance at Teyla who was looking anything but innocent and John cleared his throat. "Why don't you grab a chair? Watch the game with us."

"I don't want to intrude."

With three giant strides, Ronon grabbed an an empty loveseat and plopped it down. "Here."

Eyes widening, Sullivan quickly sat down.

"Oh, come on, I leave for three minutes and we're already playing musical chairs?" John watched Rodney try balancing a beer, a plate of burgers while hooking a chair with his leg. "Some help?"

Sipping his tea, John didn't think about promotions and choices, reports or his uncertain future. Not when he was perfectly happy right where he was and intended to enjoy every damn minute of it.


	6. Chapter 6

John sat on the edge of the infirmary bed in his boxers, contemplating the day ahead. He'd been dreading it more than he'd admitted to anyone, even after Mitchell's Super Bowl pep talk.

He'd never been one for pomp and ceremony. He'd skipped almost every graduation, except the one where he'd gotten his first set of officer's bars. Even his marriage had been low-key. Just him and Nancy, his best man, who he hadn't seen since, and her sister and a justice of the peace in San Francisco.

They'd tried to turn his promotion to major into a fuss. The war was in its infancy and the Air Force was looking for photo ops. Invite the media to come see the hero earn his oak leaf. He'd disappointed them all, volunteered for an op and took his leaf from his CO with a handshake and a 'don't screw this up, Sheppard." He'd pinned it on himself after strapping into his Pave Hawk. The fact that he had screwed things up right after made him extra glad he didn't have newspaper clippings around to remind him.

Hell, even his biggest surprise, and the moment he'd actually allowed himself a point of pride had been his Lt Colonel's leaf. He could still picture the small triumphant smile on Elizabeth's face. Always the diplomat, but still, she couldn't help but crow a little at her successful machinations to keep him in charge of Atlantis. And to make the moment even sweeter, it had been handled within the offices of the SGC. Landry had still been a little put out; he'd said the words perfunctorily in a conference room, the only other witnesses Elizabeth, Teyla and Rodney. Celebration had been beers on the newly minted Lt Colonel with some of the Marines from Atlantis.

But this day… this day was going to be hell.

With a sigh he looked again at the plastic covered dress blues his aide had dropped off and hung over the chair back for him and then at the sling, cast and bandages that still covered most of him. He'd had a hard enough time stripping down for the exam that Lam had insisted he have before his 'big day.'

With a wince he reached over for the uniform. His fingers brushed the top but it was enough to send the heavy woolen clothing slipping off the back of the chair onto the floor, puddling on top of his shoes.

"Damn it!"

He eased his feet down to the floor, wincing again at the cold tile under his one uncasted foot, then began to slowly bend over to pick up the fallen garment.

"You really are a stubborn bugger, aren't you?"

John looked up at the voice. One of the last people he'd expected to see stood in the opening to his screened off cubicle, arms folded but with a cheeky grin on his cherubic face.

"Carson?"

It was odd to see the doctor not wearing his white coat or Atlantis uniform. Instead the Scot wore a tartan plaid flannel shirt and jeans.

"Aye, lad."

"What are you – I thought you were in Scotland?"

"I was, until about an hour or so ago. I was just in Dr Lam's office. We were laying bets on whether you'd buzz for help getting dressed. Thanks to you, I'm twenty dollars richer." He strode in and picked up the fallen uniform, putting it back over the chair. He cocked his head and gave John an appraising, oh, so familiar scan before shaking his head. "Och, you really did get yourself into a right mess, didn't you?" he said softly.

John smiled briefly at the Scot's understatement. "You shoulda seen me a couple weeks ago."

Carson's smile dropped. "I wish I had, lad. Rodney called me when it first happened. I wanted to fly back immediately but… well, let's just say that my status with the SGC was in bit of a holding pattern."

"Was?" John's smile grew. "You're here now… is that a good sign?"

"Oh, aye," Carson grinned. "A very good sign. I'll not be CMO around here again, at least any time soon, but I've got some privileges back and… well, they tell me if – no – _when_ we go back to Pegasus that I can resume my duties there."

"That's great, Carson," John said with genuine happiness.

"Might I add," Carson said, leaning a little closer, "that the ex Mrs. Sheppard is a truly lovely woman. And I don't mean just her appearance."

Nancy. Huh. John laughed ruefully. "Yeah, she seems to be fitting into her new role pretty well. I'm glad she was able to work her magic for you."

"Aye, me too. So. You ready for the big event?"

John looked down at his boxers and chuffed. "Think I might be outa regs. Kinda slow going, here."

"Think a washed out CMO is qualified to lend a hand?"

"Not washed out, Carson. Just sidelined. You can have a seat next to me on the bench."

With infinite patience, Carson eventually managed to get John into his dress pants. After only a moment's hesitation John nodded at the scissors the doc offered, letting him cut a long slit up the left leg to allow for the cast to his knee. His one high-polish shoe shone brightly next to the dull dark blue wrapped cast.

The shirt was worse, the doctor having to manipulate his bad shoulder into the long sleeved garment. As Carson was doing up the buttons John realized the shirt was now a size too big, a testament to his weight loss over the weeks of illness and painfully slow recuperation.

The Scot kept up a merry one-sided conversation while John grunted and groaned and bit his lip through his battered body being forced into confining clothing.

Carson had gone back to Scotland. His beloved mum had passed away the year before; as Carson had predicted, she took word of his death hard and never recovered. But Carson had wanted to visit her grave and see to the upkeep of her little cottage.

"Was it weird, going home?" John asked.

"Och, it's not home anymore, lad. Especially not since Mum's passing. No, home is where the heart is, and my heart's with a new family now." As his surgeon's fingers worked at the tight uniform buttons, the doctor cursed in frustration. "Bloody hell, these are stubborn buggers!"

"Yeah, the military never does anything easy, Carson."

"'Course I'm more used to getting you outa your clothes," the Scot muttered. After a beat he realized what he'd said and burst out in a laugh. "Well now, that came out completely wrong. Sorry, lad."

John chuckled ruefully, well aware of how many times Carson's magic scissors had done far worse to his uniforms. To cover his slight embarrassment he prompted Carson back into his story. "You didn't actually talk to anyone back in Scotland, did you?"

"No, of course not," Carson scoffed. "I was read the riot act before I got permission to go. No, I kept myself pretty much hidden. Although as I was packing to leave I did hear tell I'd been caught at the cemetery, visiting Mum. The town is pretty small and someone must've recognized me." He laughed as he smoothed John's collar down. "Apparently my _ghost _haunts the cemetery now."

"Not many people can say that, Carson."

"No, no I wouldn't think they could. There. Just the jacket now." He pulled the dark blue suit coat out of the plastic and smoothed it with his hands. His fingers lingered over the block of ribbons over the breast. "I'm surprised they aren't all purple hearts," he joked softly as he eased John into the sleeves.

John laughed grimly. "They stopped sending them after a while. Think I maxed out."

"You've given a great deal of yourself for your country, John. And for all of us."

John blushed and squirmed in the ill-fitting suit. "I know some folks gave more than I have." He looked pointedly at the doctor. Then it was Carson's turn to squirm.

"Alright now, enough chit-chat. I've been talking your bloody ears off and you've barely said a word." He stepped back and gave John another appraising look. "You look grand. How're you feeling, lad, after all that fussing? They haven't taken away my prescription pad; do you need anything?"

With his arm settled back in its sling and the prodding and pulling done, most of the pain was just the muted background stuff he'd become accustomed to. He knew he'd be taking the four-wheel express to the ceremony and presumed his only activity might be a slow limp across a stage. Under hot lights. With the eyes of hundreds of military and civilian VIPs on him and only him. He felt sweat gathering at his pits and realized he hadn't put on his antiperspirant.

Maybe a little controlled substance might be warranted.

Instead he waved Carson's offer off. "Unless you've got a bottle of scotch in your medicine cabinet, I'm good, thanks, Doc."

Carson's eyes twinkled merrily. "Well, I was saving it as a surprise for later, lad, but I did bring a wee bit o' Scotland home with me."

* * *

Ronon pushed the wheelchair up the ramp and through the back entrance of the stage, John's entourage, as Rodney called it, following in their wake.

Rodney fussed in his 'monkey suit,' digging at his collar and tugging at the sleeves, whining to everyone and no one about how the wool was giving him an allergic reaction. Carson, who had changed out his flannel shirt for a tux jacket and kilt, threatened to give him a shot of Benadryl in his itchy arse and that quieted him for a bit. He sulked until Jennifer slipped an arm around him consolingly and his eyes widened at her pink silk dress.

Teyla looked… stunning was a particularly apt description. Her gown was turquoise and copper, achingly reminiscent of Atlantis. She caught John staring and smiled broadly, even giving a little spin for him.

"Wow, Teyla. Just… wow."

"Ms Mal Doran turns out to have quite the eye, I agree," Teyla said. "She even found the cutest little suit for Torren."

"Can't wait to see it," John said. And he couldn't. Couldn't wait for this whole circus to be over with so he could hang with his friends and maybe even have someone sneak him a beer or three. Or some more of Carson's amazing Scottish firewater. He could still taste the smoky peat in his mouth from the generous belt the doc had poured him.

Ronon finally parked the chair and set the brake. He was almost unrecognizable, dressed in a simple black on black tux, his hair pulled back and his beard trimmed up. Then John caught the black leather boots and laughed as he realized the Satedan had hung on to a little bit of himself.

There was a rise in noise from the auditorium, hundreds of voices that had been muffled by the heavy curtains suddenly becoming louder. John looked up to see Lorne had parted the curtain and was headed back. Kitted out in his own dress blues, his XO came over to shake his hand.

"Congratulations again, sir," Lorne said formally. "I think they're ready when you are."

John took a deep, hopefully cleansing breath and exhaled slowly. It was really gonna happen. Now. He nodded shortly, not yet trusting his voice.

The next he knew, Ronon was clapping him heavily on his shoulder; Rodney was giving him a huge grin and an exaggerated, exuberant thumbs-up. Teyla bent to touch foreheads with him and murmured, "You deserve this, John," before joining the group as they made their hasty exit to their seats.

Lorne stayed behind, standing stiffly at attention. The formality was really driving it home for John and he felt compelled by the weight of what was to come to honor it with his own formality.

"Major Lorne?"

His XO snapped tighter. "Yes, sir?"

"It's been a pleasure serving with you, Major. You've been an outstanding officer and an asset to my command. You've always had my six, and that hasn't always been the case for me."

Lorne didn't reply, just flushed a little red and if possible, tensed up more.

"As my second you've been an invaluable aide to me, propped up things when I was away or laid up. I'm calling on you now, to prop me up again. I need an escort onto that damn stage."

Lorne's blue eyes brightened with moisture and he smiled. Shot John a sharp salute. "I'd be honored, sir."

John returned the salute and it felt right. "Help me outa this damn chair, then, Major."

His XO's strong arm around his middle, John stepped to the curtain. The voices had quieted down to a low drone. John darted a look at Lorne and swallowed. "Think I'd rather be flying another nuke into a superhive about now."

Lorne chuckled. "Think you'll find the room is mostly Friendlies, Colonel. This'll be a cake flight. Clear skies."

John nodded, then parted the curtain and stepped forward. All the voices stopped like the sound had been cut off.

The lights hit his eyes and he blinked after the dimness of backstage. When his vision cleared it was to take in a sea of faces and a patchwork of colors. Navy white, Army olive, Marine black and his own Air Force blue punctuated by brighter colors on some of the civilians.

As he looked closer he saw the front row, filled with his friends. Teyla bounced Torren on her knee and pointed for the toddler up at John. Nancy sat next to Ronon in a simple black shift like the one she'd worn to his father's funeral. He blinked again as he recognized Dave sitting next to her. His brother caught his eye, gave him a nod and a smile, then stabbed a thumb towards Nancy, answering the question as to how he'd found out.

Ronon, Carson, Rodney and Woolsey rounded out the row, but behind them John caught more familiar faces. Bates was there, and Chuck and Radek. Lam was there with a recently returned Daniel Jackson. Yep. Vala sat next to Jackson, wearing a bright peacock blue, low-cut stunner of her own. And Teal'c sat at the end.

He found his eye wandering, looking for one more familiar face, then saw her, four rows back. Sullivan cleaned up nicely.

At a subtle throat clearing, John's attention was brought back. Dumbly, he realized that the true 'star' power was on the stage itself. Colonels Ellis, Caldwell, Mitchell and Carter all stood smartly in their dress blues along with Generals O'Neill and Landry. And bringing the whole thing to a completely surreal head was the President himself, holding a flat wooden box.

Somewhere off in the audience someone coughed and a low murmur ran through the seats. John was pinned, understanding completely now the feeling the deer had with a pair of halogens headed his way at 55.

This wasn't meant for him. He wasn't _that_ guy – the one who got the accolades and backslaps. He was the guy who screwed up. Who too often let his heart lead his head. Who took crazy risks, not out of a death wish and certainly not out of desire for …this. He did it for family. For home, for his country or his city. For the men and women who counted on him to keep them safe.

The murmurs grew louder but over it all was this increasingly loud, insistent cough. He glanced back in its direction, saw Rodney, fist dropping from in front of his mouth, his eyes boring holes at John. Saw his friend mouth, "You can do this." Saw Ronon and Teyla nodding their heads, encouraging him while the audience grew antsier.

Then he felt Lorne's arm tighten around his middle. "Don't make me drag you out in front of the President, sir," was whispered near his ear.

He swallowed, stuttered out a nod, and began halting steps across the stage towards the gathered officers. The crowd erupted into clapping, probably glad just to see the ceremony and him moving forward finally.

He stopped in front of the group, muttered a thanks and tried on a tentative smile.

"It's a promotion, Sheppard, not a firing squad," General O'Neill muttered.

"Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"With your permission, sir?" O'Neill asked Landry. With a slow nod the laconic older General took a step back.

O'Neill turned to the audience and smiled, that famous Jack smile. "Hello, everybody!"

The crowd chuckled and murmured hellos back.

"You're probably used to these ceremonies being pretty formal. Which can be code for stale, stodgy… and other words I would need a thesaurus to find. Well, too bad!" he said with a shrug. "It's the military!"

The crowd chuckled harder at that, most of them being in the armed forces themselves.

"We don't often get a helluva lot of recognition for the things we do on a daily basis, for our country…for our planet. Whether you're driving a supply truck, feeding the troops, standing post, decrypting code, treating the wounded, navigating stormy seas or flying a Blackhawk in Antarctica, we all do our part, day in, night out. And when we get a chance to honor one of us with a promotion, there is a need to recognize the rare privilege it is. With formality, with reverence, with solemnity."

There wasn't a sound in the audience as O'Neill's words hung in the auditorium.

"But," he continued with a cheeky grin, "me being me, and our guest of honor being held together with sutures and plaster, I'll try not to let it get too bogged down, okay?"

As the audience relaxed and laughed O'Neill turned and gave John a wink. "How 'bout we get this show on the road, Sheppard?"

John exhaled and felt the tension leave his body. He squeezed Lorne's shoulder as his XO eased away, leaving John to stand wobbily on his own. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Good. Good morning, everyone. We're pleased all of you could join us as we recognize one of our own, Lt Colonel John Sheppard, on the occasion of his promotion to Colonel. General Landry was kind enough to allow me to officiate today's ceremony. Ladies and gentlemen, General Hank Landry."

The crowd clapped politely as Landry stepped forward for his recognition. "Ladies and gentlemen. Five years ago, a very special woman, a civilian, if you can believe it, convinced me to take a still green Major and make him a Lt Colonel and give him control over the most valuable prize our planet has ever known. I won't say I didn't have reservations, but I am proud to be a part, once again, of Lt Colonel Sheppard's well-deserved promotion. Congratulations, son."

Then Landry stepped back to join the President at his side.

Before John could absorb Landry's remarks O'Neill was back at the microphone.

"Attention to orders! the President of the United States, acting upon the recommendation of the Secretary of the Air Force, has placed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, integrity, and abilities of Lt Colonel Sheppard. In view of these special qualities, and his demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, Lt Colonel Sheppard is promoted to the grade of Colonel, United States Air Force, effective the seventeenth of February, two thousand and nine, by order of the Secretary of the Air Force.

Colonel Carter, as his most recent commander, would you please come forward and pin on Colonel Sheppard's new rank?"

Carter smiled coyly, then turned to the man next to her. "I believe someone else has requested that honor, sir. Steven?"

Colonel Caldwell put on a slightly pained smile and stepped forward. Cleared his throat and adjusted the mike, wincing as it squealed.

O'Neill bent in to the mouthpiece. "Ladies and gentlemen, Colonel Steven Caldwell."

After the polite applause stopped Caldwell stood to his full height. "Thank you, General. Colonel Sheppard and I served together in Pegasus, during some of the direst situations I have ever been a party to. Time and again, I witnessed Colonel Sheppard pull off incredible acts of bravery and selflessness. His cool head, strong heart and bull-headed stubbornness saved our people more times than I can count. Of course, without the Daedalus to pull his ass outa the fire time and again, he wouldn't be here for me to pin his eagle on him."

While John stood gobsmacked at the curmudgeonly officer's glowing praise, the older man stepped up, swiftly removed the silver oak leaf and replaced it with an eagle, then stepped back, hand extended. "Thank you, sir," John said softly. "Especially for always being there to pull my ass outa the fire."

The audience burst into applause for the newly minted Colonel until O'Neill finally waved them all down. "Formality, folks, remember? Colonel Caldwell will now administer the oath of office."

John raised his right hand as high as he could, barely feeling the pain in his shoulder, overwhelmed as he was. Thankfully, his brain was able to take a back seat as the words came to him like those of a favorite song, and he was able to echo each of Caldwell's.

"I, John Sheppard, having been appointed a Colonel in the United States Air Force, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office which I am about to enter, so help me God."

O'Neill picked back up as MC and began clapping. "Ladies and gentlemen, Colonel John Sheppard."

The audience rose to their feet as one, applauding, smiling. A uniformed photographer stepped forward and John stood as tall as he could, grinning and trying not to squint against the mini-nova flashes of light in his eyes. A particularly badly timed flash made him flinch and he felt his tenuous stance falter. But before he could even react he felt a hand at his back, steadying him.

"Got your back, Sheppard," Mitchell whispered. Then the SG-1 colonel caught O'Neill's eye and gave him a loaded look. "Think we need to move this along, Jack."

Quick to catch on, the general waved his hands, quieting the audience as they re-took their seats.

"If you check your programs you might see there is one more thing on the agenda. While we'd normally like to do this up a little more publicly, media and the whole circus, the shall we say, special circumstances, surrounding this event mean a little less pomp and circumstance and a little more top secret clearance.

Without further ado, I give you the President of the United States of America."

The President stepped up to applause, waved a hand and allowed a few flashbulbs to go off before setting the mike like a pro.

"We are a planet of more than six billion people. Of these, fewer than 1 percent wear the uniform of our Armed Services. And of these, just a small fraction has earned a place in our Stargate program.

In the finest military the world has ever known, these men and women are the best of the best. In an era that prizes celebrity and status, they are "quiet professionals" - never seeking the spotlight. They have borne a burden far beyond their small numbers – often finding themselves as the last line of defense against enemies the likes of which we have never faced.

Few of us on Earth ever see their service, but all of us are safer because of it.

Today, it is my privilege to present our nation's highest military decoration - the Medal of Honor - to one of these remarkable soldiers, Colonel John Sheppard.

To do so, we are joined by his fellow officers of the SGC, by his fellow soldiers in whose ranks he served, and by his friends and family.

It has been said that courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point. For John Sheppard, the testing point came but a few short months ago, when our planet was faced with a seemingly unstoppable enemy. The courage he displayed that day has earned him our nation's highest honor and eternal gratitude.

Invaders from a galaxy too far away for most people to even begin to fathom had made their way to the very doorstep of our solar system. This enemy has vast numbers, strength and physical attributes that make them almost impossible to kill, and came in a ship that could withstand any weapon our planet has developed.

Colonel Sheppard, knowing how grave the threat was, how imminent the possible devastation of our planet was, chose to volunteer for a suicide mission, to sacrifice himself so that we all would be saved. In an aircraft, so small it would be a gnat to the behemoth alien ship, he approached the enemy. And he waited. For twenty minutes… twenty long, quiet minutes, he hung in space. His craft powered down, no communication, no comfort. And his only company a nuclear bomb that he would be detonating inside the alien fortress.

After those long twenty minutes had passed, Colonel Sheppard slipped behind enemy lines and planted that nuclear bomb, fully expecting to be vaporized in the blast. It was only by God's grace and the ingenuity of his Atlantean team and XO that allowed a literal last second save that finds Colonel Sheppard here with us today.

This is the valor that we honor today. And I would ask John's team, who were with him that day, to please stand and be recognized."

John's heart swelled as Teyla, Rodney and Ronon rose slowly from their seats. He turned and waved a red-faced Lorne to come out for the thunderous applause, grateful that the President had known to recognize his friends who had saved him that day.

"Every individual on this planet is safer because of their service. And every individual has a duty to remember and honor their sacrifice.

If we do - if we keep their legacy alive, if we keep faith with the freedoms they defend - then we can imagine a day, decades from now, when another child sits down at his desk, ponders the true meaning of heroism and finds inspiration in the story of a soldier and his team who kept the wolf from our door.

That is the meaning of this medal. And that is our summons today, as a proud and grateful nation. So please join us as the citation is read."

A man stepped out onto the stage. His uniform coat was black but the hat he held under his arm was shining white and four stars rode above a brick of colorful ribbons on his chest. John's eyes widened at the sight of a man few got to lay eyes on.

Admiral James "Sandy" Winnefeld, commander over all of NORAD, the SGC and Cheyenne complex included, took the wooden box from his Commander in Chief and stepped up to the mike to read the citation.

"The President of the United States of America, authorized by act of Congress, March 3rd, 1863, has awarded, in the name of the Congress, the Medal of Honor to Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty.

Colonel John Sheppard distinguished himself by extraordinary acts of heroism while defending Earth against a hostile enemy, on January 9, 2009. His extraordinary valor ultimately saved the lives everyone on this planet. His heroism and selflessness above and beyond the call of duty are in keeping with the highest traditions of military service and reflect great credit upon himself and the United States Air Force."

With Mitchell's hand still steadying him, John bowed his head as the Admiral opened the box. The ribbon was the azure of clear skies, the medal itself emblazoned with the Air Force coat of arms and the portrait of Lady Liberty, the word Valor over both.

As the ribbon was placed around his neck John felt the weight of it settle onto his chest. The whole weight of it, and everything it stood for.

As he lifted his head he watched as the crowd stood from their seats. The sound of hundred of heels slamming together echoed through the small auditorium as every military person present stood to attention and raised a sharp salute.

Then the Admiral brought the mike stand over and placed it in front of him.

John took a deep breath, taking in all the hated attention honed in on him there on the stage. By the time he was done exhaling he knew just what he wanted to say.

"This honor…this amazing honor, does not belong to me. It belongs to every man and woman with whom I have had the honor to serve, here and abroad… and even further. I would not be present to accept this great honor were it not for the actions of people who made sacrifices, many of them greater than mine. Atlantis was… _is_ more than a military base, more than a research city. She is greater than both her parts. Not because of her technology, so far superior to any imagined on Earth. Not because of her defensive and offensive potential. And not because of her gleaming spires, although she is beautiful. She is what she is because of the people, military and civilian alike. From the laundry to the gateroom, from the mess hall to the armory, and from the labs to the command center, men and women kept the city clean and safe, kept us all well-fed and well-armed. Scientists made new discoveries on a daily basis. Doctors and nurses tended to the sick and wounded, myself included, too many times."

The crowd chuckled as he raised his sling-covered arm.

"Our off-world teams explored hundreds of planets, introducing us to new cultures, making new friends and allies. Reminding us, as the SG teams here in our own galaxy did, that we aren't alone… not by a long shot.

And there were men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice. They died on planets light years from home, and in the halls of Atlantis. They died exploring dangerous terrain. Defending against hostile attacks. They died making last second fixes to defense satellites, and they died trying to find a cure for a disease that should've killed me."

John felt his throat close up and his eyes begin to water. So many had died. Too many. And he wanted to name each and every one of them, to demand they each be given this medal. He touched the cold metal, felt the arrows clutched in the eagle's talons, the lines that carved the word Valor. He knew what true valor meant, had witnessed it in action.

He cleared his throat and swiped a hand across his eyes.

"They died so that others could live. And continue exploring new worlds, discovering new cures and technology, saving lives and making new friends. This honor belongs to them above all else. I can only hope that their sacrifices weren't made in vain. Thank you."

There was a heartbeat of silence then thunderous applause filled the auditorium. Flashbulbs started going off in earnest. He stood awkwardly, blinded by the flashes and the applause filling his ears. He felt a hand wrap around his waist and begin turning him. He limped forward, unaware of his benefactor until his hands brushed the heavy velvet of the stage curtains.

"Quite the speech, Sheppard," came General O'Neill's voice. "You looking for a career in politics?"

"S-Sir?" John stuttered out.

"You orchestrated that like a master. Never thought you had it in you."

John felt himself being lowered until his ass hit the familiar firm seat of his wheelchair. He rubbed a fist in his eyes, trying to clear some of the white spots from the flashbulbs. "Sorry, sir?" he tried again.

"The speech, Sheppard," O'Neill said with a broad grin. "You think after a speech like that, from a gen-u-ine American hero, that they'll be able to vote against Atlantis heading back to Pegasus?"

John gaped for a moment, then shook his head. "I, I am sorry, sir. I… that wasn't my intention. I meant what I said."

O'Neill crowed, "I know! That's what made it so great!" Then he cocked his head and looked at John. "You really didn't know the speech would have that effect."

"No, sir."

"Well, thank God for that," O'Neill sighed. "I'da hated to lose you to Capitol Hill. And I can't stand politicians."

"Do you really think they'll let Atlantis go back?"

"Well, Sheppard, if I was a gambling man, before that little speech of yours, I'd've laid your odds at getting your precious city back in Pegasus at slim to none. Now, I'd say better than even."

"That's… that's… thank you, sir."

"Hey, don't thank me, thank Colonel Carter."

John just blinked.

"Carter's the one who put you up for the medal… you didn't know that?"

"No-o-o," John said, realization slowly dawning on him. "I – I guess I never really… when they told me I just…" He laughed and shook his head again, trying to clear the last of the buzz in his ears. "No, I had no idea."

"She never put me up for one."

"Sir, I…"

"Mitchell's got one, you know."

"Sir, again, I…"

O'Neill shrugged, walked around to the back of the chair and began pushing. "Just make sure to wear that pretty little medal to the next IOA hearing. Trust me on that."

* * *

The gathering after the ceremony passed in a blur of smiling faces and handshakes. Seated in a chair at the back of the banquet hall, John had been held virtual prisoner by his lingering weakness and the crowds of well-wishers.

As the celebration had eventually wound down and the crowd thinned out John took a sip of the now flat champagne he'd nursed all day and grimaced.

"You never did care for champagne."

He looked up as Nancy approached. "Too sweet," he confirmed. "Wish they'd thought to serve Bud."

No sooner had he finished the words when Nancy handed him a tall brown bottle with a smile. "They had them up at the bar. Cap's already loosened."

John shook his head in amazement as he twisted off the cap and took a long pull. The beer was cold and cut through the lingering sweetness the bubbly had left. With an exhale of pleasure and a small burp, John smiled gratefully. "Coming in on my six again, Nance. Thanks. For everything."

"It was nice to work with you, John. For a change," she added with a wink. "Gotta say, I can see a little of what appeals to you about it. Even far removed from everything, it was… well, it was the most exciting thing I've ever been a part of. Sure beats background checks and running threat assessments."

"Is that what you were doing? With Homeland, I mean."

"Among other things. The rest is classified," she smirked. Then she sobered. "I can't believe all the things you've done, John. Those I know about. It must've been very hard, all those times you were gone, not able to tell me why, or where."

"You know I would've if I could've, Nance."

She gave him a wistful smile. "I know."

As the silence between them grew uncomfortable John redirected the conversation. "So, what are your plans now? That you can share, of course."

She pulled the pins out of her hair and fluffed it out, exhaled through pursed lips. "First thing I plan to do is get outa these shoes. I hate heels," she pouted. "My feet are killing me."

John laughed. "Was thinking a bit further out."

"Well, I'm flying back to DC in the morning. I'll be shuttling back and forth between Colorado Springs and the Capitol for the foreseeable future. I keep reminding them we have video conferencing but the Old Boys like face time and don't take to all that newfangled nonsense."

"All that travel," John said. "That'll be hard..." He took another pull off the beer without finishing the sentence.

But Nancy heard it anyway. "I'm getting used to it. Grant and I… well, it had been rough between us for a year or so already. It got worse after I was made Director back at Homeland. He's doing so well in Phoenix…" She chuckled ruefully. "Well, these things happen, huh? Only this time I came home to the note and the empty house."

"Nance… I'm sorry."

Nancy waved him off, put on a big smile. "I'm a big girl, John. I made my choices."

"Doesn't make it suck any less."

She laughed. "No. no it doesn't. But, it made me realize, maybe people like us should stick with… people like us."

John's eyebrows rose and he squirmed in his seat. "Nance, I—"

Her hand shot out and popped him hard in his (thankfully) good shoulder. "Not me, you big dummy! Not me and you. I was thinking of you and a certain other someone…" She dipped her head unsubtly to the side.

John followed it with his eyes, felt himself flush as his eyes landed on Sullivan talking animatedly with Rodney and Teyla.

"You two seemed to hit it off pretty well."

"Would you—" John lowered his voice and scowled at Nancy's broad grin. "Keep it down. What, being High Priestess of Homeworld Security isn't a big enough job? You have time to play matchmaker, too?"

Nancy placed a much gentler hand back on his good shoulder. "I just want you to be happy, John." Then she leaned in, gave him a brief kiss and smiled. "Gotta fly. My flight leaves at 0400 for my lunch meeting on the Hill. Take care of yourself, John. And who knows? Maybe I might get that tour of your city some day."

"It's a date, Nance. Take care. And thanks again."

Left by himself, he watched as Rodney rolled his eyes and Teyla laughed. Ronon balanced a plate laden with the last of the food, grinning around a mouthful of shrimp. Karen turned, as if feeling his eyes on her. She gave him a smile and started walking over.

For a day he had been dreading for so long, it had turned out to be pretty damn cool.

* * *

John limped toward the visitor log, scrawling his name and the time across the yellow pad, wondering why they still needed it with all the new fancy gizmos. Switching his cane to his other hand, he placed his right one on a scanner and waited for it to record his prints. The two marines waiting next to him waited patiently, eyes and ears on full alert. The machine beeped happily and John proceeded onto the retinal imaging device mounted on the wall. After the standard five-second confirmation procedure, the large steel doors ahead opened, allowing Sergeants Boxer and Kim to walk him toward the brig.

Outside the large holding cell, the Marines waited by the door as John went over toward the guards' station. Ever since the spectacular security failure, all guests had to be escorted down to the brig and submit to additional identification tests. In addition to a live security feed inside the cell, heat sensors had been installed on every level of the base to monitor any temperature changes that might indicate a breach.

Supposedly the invisible man couldn't break in, but no one was holding their breath. John leaned on his cane and walked toward the newly custom built sixty by sixty cell. Todd stood in front of a whiteboard, contemplating a string of equations and glancing at a set of laptop screens. One computer was used for in-house communication with his _colleagues_, the other was a stripped down Mac, installed with only science and mathematical programs.

"Are you just going to stand there, John Sheppard?"

John nodded at one of the guards and the corporal released the force shield and unlocked the door, his partner covering him. Hobbling inside, the door was locked behind him. Glancing around, he scanned a bookshelf loaded with reading material, a standard sized bed minus the box springs, and a frumpy orange loveseat.

Todd gestured at a chair and oak desk. "Would you like to sit?"

"I'll stand."

John didn't wear a sling anymore and he'd ditched his walking cast the week before. He still had several weeks of PT ahead, but he'd finally accepted the fact that he wouldn't be facing any type of medical discharge, a fear that had plagued him during some of the more grueling days of therapy and set-backs.

"Very well." Todd's feeding hand was secured by a fancy titanium glove, but his arms were not chained to his body, although such measures were taken whenever he stepped outside his prison. "I am pleased to see you come by."

"Didn't have any appointments scheduled," John lied.

"Then perhaps you have time to stay. I hear you enjoy this game of chess. I have yet to have anyone to compete against."

John noticed the cardboard board and plastic playing pieces set up on a small table. "Sorry, I think I've had enough games of late."

Todd smiled. "Yes, I hear that your people are near a decision about Atlantis' return to Pegasus."

"The scientists talk too much," John said dryly. The hearing was next week, but that was only the first step in the battle. "Was there was a reason for this little camp-fire talk or did you just miss me?"

The Wraith might have exhaled in annoyance, it was hard to tell. "Do you find it fitting, that we stand here, outside our normal _uniforms_, both our futures dependent on others?" Todd still wore the same ugly gray coveralls, John in a set of track pants and black t-shirt. The Wraith didn't wait for an answer. "I do not enjoy a lack of control in my future."

His spidey sense tingled, but John kept his poker face. "It's a tough thing to accept."

"Not if I have a way to influence it."

Without realizing it, John closed the gap between them. "Wanna quit screwing around and tell me why you asked me to come here?"

"I want to, how do you say it? Put my cards on the table?" Todd stepped over to one of his computers and pulled out a flash drive. "This has all the coordinates of the most likely area in which superhives are being constructed. And do not doubt the fact that they are being built. If one failed, it will not stop dozens more. In fact it will incite them to act even faster, knowing how close they had come to a new, rich feeding ground. This data includes a list of planets we have used as bases of operations and the manufacture of raw materials."

Not wanting to appear too eager, John kept his hand by his side. "If this is true, this helps you how?"

Smiling, Todd held it in his open palm. "Surely your people have a way to inspect the validity. And if you do..."

It left no choice but for Atlantis to return and prevent the Wraith from attacking Earth. John accepted the flash drive. "How do I know this isn't a viral weapon or some type of sabotage?"

"Because that won't allow me to return home."

"And all your fellow Wraith?"

Todd shrugged. "They are not loyal to me."

John wasn't sure if he wanted to pursue the topic of loyalty, considering the offer being made. The new command he'd been forced to pass on because of his injuries could be in Pegasus in less than three weeks to investigate the claims.

"I'll have my people review it."

"And if I am right?"

"Then we'll be back to a place we're both more comfortable with. Where all bets are off."

"That is acceptable," Todd inclined his head.

Pocketing the flash drive, John didn't break the steely eye contact. "There anything else?"

"Do I have to ask?"

The last time he'd been confronted with this question, he'd balked. "We're trying to find an animal that suits you better." Todd scowled and John held firm. "But we are searching for... _volunteers_, to accommodate your needs."

The SCG hadn't ruled seeking out select prisons with death row, allowing the most violent and vile of offenders to choose a unique form of execution. Until a decision was made, Lam, Keller and Carson were working hard on a biomedical alternative. Todd didn't frown per se; he simply accepted the answer without excitement.

"Hopefully, my information will speed up the process."

"Perhaps," John answered. "Until then."

He turned to leave the Wraith to his daily activities.

"We are a lot alike, John Sheppard. Both alone. Both seeking out true paths in life."

John nodded at the Marine, without looking back. "We're less alike than you think."

He had mounds of paperwork ahead and an uphill battle on Capital Hill for one of the fiercest fight of his life, but for the first time since he could remember. John had the confidence of those beyond his team to have his back, who were fighting right alongside him. O'Neill's words still echoing in his head.

Nancy emailed from DC. She hadn't revealed her final analysis, but she had said it was fair and he took her word on it.

Weeding his way through security, clutching a possible secret weapon for the hearings, his cell went off.

"Talk to me."

"_Oh, please, I'm not your aide."_

"You back from 51?" he asked McKay.

"_Why else would I be calling you?"_

John couldn't help the smile across his face. "What's up? You want a re-match on Whidzz Wordz?"

"_If I wanted to be bored to tears, I'd go bother Radek. I heard Conan's in town and thought you'd like to go out for dinner. Teyla's got a sitter."_

Ronon was back from his first stint as a SERE instructor. "Let me grab a rain check. Make it a late one on Sunday. Then we can all fly out to D.C together on Monday. I'll get Nelson to arrange the flights."

"_You're passing up on a Friday night on the town? Did you finally ask that linguistics woman out?"_

"I'll see you on Sunday, Rodney," John answered and ended the call.

Thumbing through the screens of his Blackberry, he verified his plane ticket confirmation. He could take a military jet to his destination, but didn't want the fuss. He searched his contact list and jabbed at the desired number, listening to the phone ring.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Dave. I'm on my way to the airport. Is everything still good?"

"_My secretary knows not to interrupt my weekend for anything. It'll be...it'll be nice to see you."_

"Same here," John replied. "See you in a few hours."

Taking a deep breath, he passed his office, entered the elevator and headed toward McKay's temporary quarters. He fought off the urge to call Rodney back and tell him to power up his computer and bring sandwiches. Fingering the precious data drive, he copied the contents to his Blackberry then punched in the security code to his friend's room and wrote a note.

_Maybe this will convince you where Atlantis needs to be._

Staring at himself in the mirror over the vanity, John studied the man looking back. He almost pulled out his cell to cancel his trip to visit his brother. Gripping the phone, he fought an internal tug-of-war before shoving it back into his pocket. Instead he left the flash drive on the desk, placing trust in his team, knowing he didn't have to juggle everything by himself.

There was a whole world out there, and no matter where he rested his feet at the end of the day, it was high time he took it all in. Forge new memories with those closest to him, those he was still trying to connect with and fill up all those empty picture frames.

To actually experience and enjoy the things he fought so hard to protect.

_From:Blocked  
To: Blocked  
Date:03.04.09  
Subject: The Hearing_

_We don't have enough votes. They are going to recommend returning. All military personnel have been recalled. The IOA is already drafting plausible leaks to the press to cover the departure._

_What is our next move? Try stall in budget committee?_

_E.H._

_From: Blocked  
To: Blocked  
Date:03.04.09  
Subject: RE: The Hearing_

_Arranging an additional gate tech transfer to gain eyes and ears. We cannot stop the progress of the idiotic, but will continue monitoring and shifting our people in._

_Begin contingency plans._

_V.T._

_

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Feedback is always appreciated.

A/N: This was a custom tailored story for **susnn**. We were not given a specific prompt, but through e-mails, we knew our recipient wanted something showcasing Sheppard's competence as a military officer, to receive accolades from his fellow officers (maybe being mentored by members of SG-1,) and perhaps be awarded a medal for his service. We added in the promotion because we felt it appropriate.

The Medal of Honor is not awarded as quickly as we have in this story, but we wanted it to be part of the plot and did so under creative licenses.

Thank you and take care-

**everybetty** and **kristen999**


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